


only if for a night

by PidgesBayard



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Galra Keith (Voltron), Healing, High Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Being a Little Shit, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, chapter 2 has a bit of mentions of abuse but its nothing too drastic, is this fic just an excuse for fantasy klance? yes yes it is, no beta readers we die like men, very minor blood/violence, was gonna be a oneshot but i have no self control so there'll be more chapters now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13288110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PidgesBayard/pseuds/PidgesBayard
Summary: Keith watched closely with intrigue. “Magic. You used that to rescue me, did you not?”“Yeah, I did. Just a little trick I picked up.” Lance blew the smoke from his fingertip. He immediately thought of a bad joke, and the temptation was too strong.“I guess you could say... I’m on fire?” Lance snapped and pointed his fingers at Keith, who blinked and ran his gaze down the length of Lance’s body.“There are no flames on you."--Or, Lance somehow ends up adopting a new cat boyfriend.





	1. Chapter 1

Adjusting the strings of his lute, the bard resumed his song from the exact note he had paused at. Although the tavern was crammed full of travelers, forcing some to lean against the wall due a lack of open seats, several customers nodded their heads in appreciation in his direction. Background music was a pleasing noise to the ears of the worn out travelers gathered in the taproom to quench their thirst.

“Lance!” An angry voice hissed in his pointed ear. Without halting his performance, the bard casually looked over his shoulder to his best friend. Hunk was supposed to be working, but had chosen instead to huddle behind the counter Lance sat upon. It was almost an amusing sight – Hunk stood above the shoulders of most of the men in there, and yet he was trembling like a newborn kitten.

“Are you crazy? Do you want to be killed?” Hunk murmured from his hiding spot.

“And who would be killing me?” Lance lifted an eyebrow.

“Uhhh, them?” Hunk lifted a finger above the counter, pointing at some shady customers huddled in a table near the corner of the room. Ah, yes, Lance hadn’t failed to notice them and the crests on their armour, betraying their status as royal guards. Ever since the scowling men entered the taproom, Hunk hadn’t moved from his hiding spot underneath the counter.

Lance shrugged and fiddled with his lute. “They don’t frighten me.”

“Don’t frighten you?” Hunk sputtered. “And what if they found out you’re only twelve, huh? You’re a year younger than me, you shouldn’t even _be_ in here!”

Lance rolled his eyes. Hunk was every bit of a year and a month older than him, and his friend used every chance he could to remind him of it. The half Dwarf was a natural worry wart, and although Lance had adjusted it in their long years of friendship, it still proved a bit irksome at times.

“Then I’ll play them a little song and enchant them to forgive me.” Lance plucked a few notes in tune with his words before poking Hunk on the nose. “And you, my good friend, should turn your worries to attending to your costumers before they stab you in the gut.”

Hunk whirled around and gulped at the numerous angry faces seated at the counter, their mugs drained empty. Grumbling under his breath, Hunk reluctantly rose to fetch them refills.

“Enchant them, oh yes, Lance, that’ll work. Stupid magic, it doesn’t even _work_ half of the time...”

Lance chuckled and was soon left to his music and thoughts once again. From his perch on the counter, he could observe every corner of the taproom. All the voices speaking meshed together, save for the table closest to Lance, swarmed with adventurers. He could hear their voices above the chatter of the room, bragging about the last victory of their quest.

That was what Lance craved – adventure. More than anything else, he wished one of the adventurers would take notice of him and invite him to join them on their next outing. He had grown dreadfully bored of the meek village and tavern he and Hunk had occupied for the last year or so.

Lance wanted to explore, to see what the Altea kingdom offered outside of the safe villages. He’d overheard plenty of rumors, of enchanted forests and ancient ruins and massive port cities swapped over drinks.

Exploration was the reason he abandoned his own family a year ago with Hunk. He had absolutely no desire to inherit his status as a noble Elf, doomed to marry someone for the profit of his parents and be chained to one place for the rest of his long life cycle. That wasn’t the life Lance intended to lead. Not if he could help it.

Suddenly, the front doors to the taproom flung open, inviting a stream of cool air inside and snuffing several candles. Numerous prying drinkers turned their heads. Lance cranked his neck to see who had entered, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He yelped as Hunk yanked him over the counter, out of sight. Once the music cut off with an abrupt halt, everyone else in the tavern jerked their gaze up from their drinks and card games.

“Hunk! What the hell?” Lance snapped, but a broad hand clapped over his mouth to hush him. The silencing movement was just in time for the pair to hear a booming voice slice through the air. Hunk peered over the counter.

“Gentlemen, we have received reports of Galra activity in these parts,” someone said, not quite yelling but raising his voice to command silence. Immediately, worried murmurs swept over the taproom.

Knocking Hunk’s hand off his mouth, Lance hauled himself up beside his friend. A broad, red faced soldier stood in the doorway, his hands still positioned on the doors he’d knocked aside. He raked his gaze across the room until his eyes settled on the suspicious group of royal guards in the corner.

“You lot, let’s go.” He snapped his fingers in their direction. The group of royal guards downed the last few drops in their mugs before rising in unison. Everyone in the tavern whispered among themselves as the guards cleared out, leaving only the red faced man.

“This is now an area under investigation. I’d advise everyone remain in this building until further notice.” He slammed the door behind him with a loud thunk to emphasize his point.

Once the stunned silence slowly melted away, everyone in the tavern returned to their card games and drinks. The adventurers Lance had eavesdropped on earlier changed their discussion to the Galra kingdom, the worst enemy and threat to the Altea kingdom, their tones solemn but tinged with fear.

“Not sure what everyone’s freaking out about,” Lance mumbled to himself. Galra invasions were so common to the point of warranting their own law to deal with them. If the Galra reported were spotted, they’d be dealt with swiftly and efficiently.

“ _Ohhhh_ no, oh no, oh this is so bad.” Hunk slid down the counter and brought his hands to his hair. His fingers trembled as they gripped his raven black curls.

“There’s Galra here, in our village, they could be anywhere-“

“Hunk, my buddy, my guy, relax.” Lance clapped his hands onto Hunk’s shoulders. Knowing his friend’s anxieties could only be comforted with reassurance, he said, “You’re over thinking it, bud. This isn’t the first time Galra have slipped past our borders. And what happens every time they do?”

Hunk paused for a moment, most likely to consider if the question was rhetorical or not. When Lance continued to stare, he sighed and pouted. “They’re captured and taken care of.”

“Exactly,” Lance said, patting his friend’s shoulder and crawling back over the counter to retrieve his lute. Another worker at the tavern had gone around and relit all the candles, bathing the room in a warm orange glow.

“What if the Galra are in here, though?” Hunk nibbled on his fingernails, casting uneasy glances around the room.

“We would’ve heard them by now. You know those things never travel alone,” Lance pointed out. Hunk let out an uneasy sigh, but his anxiety seemed to be pacified enough.

Lance tested his fingers against the strings of his lute, but then stopped when he caught the sight of the front doors again. Slowly, he moved his gaze to the hallway, the one that lead to the backdoor of the tavern, where rubbish and uneaten leftovers were dumped outside for the rats to feast on.

“...But if it would make you feel better...” Lance trailed off. Immediately, Hunk snapped his gaze back over the counter.

“Lance, I do not like that tone.”

He couldn’t help but let his trademark grin, confident and smug, seep back onto his face. He hooked the strap of his lute over his shoulder and gracefully slid off the counter.

“I can go check to make sure they caught those Galra for you.”

Lance’s slim figure allowed him to easily slip by the crowd of customers loitering around for refills. Hunk was stunned for a few heartbeats, before he sprung to life. He rushed to keep with his friend on the opposite side of the counter.

“What are you _doing?_ If they spot you sneaking around, the guards will arrest you!” Hunk waved his arms frantically. Lance, not slowing his pace, smirked and nonchalantly shrugged.

“What can I say? My middle name is danger.”

“Lance, I have known you for nearly ten years now and your middle name is _not_ danger!” Hunk retorted. While Lance easily sneaked past the crowd, Hunk discovered himself being caged in by the swarm of customers. He accidentally bumped into a few people as he tried to find a clear path, but he was helpless to do anything but watch his smirking friend wave goodbye and disappear down the hallway.

“Lance! If you manage to get yourself killed, I’ll murder you with my bare hands-“

Eventually Hunk’s voice was drowned out by the hum of the busy taproom. Lance left the noisy commotion behind as he exited out the side door, closing it behind him to not start any suspicion. He brushed the dust off his blue tunic and regarded the sight in front of him.

Out beyond the circle of light provided by the lantern overhead, the forest that surrounded the tavern was shrouded in darkness. The woods were too dark for any human eyes to navigate, but Lance’s sharp Elf eyes surveyed the area clear as day.

“No signs of Galra out here,” he spoke to himself, waiting a moment to see if anything would stir at the sound of his voice. Other than the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustling of leaves under the night breeze, nothing moved. So he jumped off the door frame and confidently marched into the forest with the intent of finding the Galra supposedly lurking about.

He’d heard many a tale of the Galra, either through rumors in the tavern or through stories told to children to discourage them from wandering off into the woods at night. He was dying to see at least one, just to see if they lived up to the horrid legends. On top of that, he would also get to witness a quarrel between human guards and Galra soldiers – he could already feel the inspiration for a new song.

“Now, if I was a Galra, where would I be hiding...?” He tapped his own chin. A moment later, his pointed ears twitched at distant shouts. He dropped to the forest floor, crouching out of sight. Torches glowed in the remote murkiness of the forest; they must belong to the guards. Keeping his stance low, Lance cut through the forest, mindful of twigs that might snap and give away his position.

Thankfully, his Elven heritage kept all of his movements noiseless and graceful. As he neared those glowing lights, the livid shouts of human voices became clearer. There was clashing of steel blades, injured cries, and vengeful swears – the Galra must be putting up one hell of a fight.

Lance blinked. Perhaps the group of Galra were even more dangerous than first anticipated.  
  
Once he ventured close enough, Lance dropped to his stomach and propped his face up on his hands to properly enjoy the show. Drunken bar fights were usually worth a good laugh or two, but they couldn’t compare to the professionally trained guards.

In the clearing in front of him, there were three of the royal guards from earlier, gesturing to the darkness of the woods. A fourth soldier emerged heartbeats later, chasing what Lance assumed to be a Galra. In the torch light, he could only catch glimpses of the purple cat like ears.

The Galra beast was hissing and snarling loud enough to shake the forest. It halted upon realizing it was surrounded by four royal guards. They must have lured it here to corner it, but...

Lance craned his neck again. Where were the other Galra? They always traveled in packs, according to what the adventurers in the tavern claimed. But this one appeared to be unaccompanied.

The Galra reached for his side, and Lance stifled a hearty chuckle. What could the small dagger the Galra clutched in his hand possibly do against the four swords pointed at him? The beast’s tail lashed back and forth as he whirled around, trying to keep an eye on all guards at once. All it would take was one slip up for a guard to seize the opportunity to plunge his sword into the Galra’s gut.

Without warning, the Galra lunged at a random guard, and the loud crash of metal against metal caused another guard to accidentally drop his torch. He stomped it out with his heavy boot and joined the others in rushing the Galra.

Lance’s laughter slowly died out as the fight progressed, much longer than he thought it would last. He had to admire the Galra’s skill. He thrust his dagger here, dodged a blow there, parried another blow. Somehow he was everywhere at once, fending off every attempt at his life.

The four guards’ expression slowly changed to enraged confusion. After knocking the sword out of one man’s hand, the Galra twirled around and chomped his fangs onto another guard’s arm. Gods above – he actually tried _biting_ the man. The guard’s solid armor was the only shield that kept the Galra from wrenching the man’s arm free from his socket.

Yelling more out of shock than pain, the man finally managed to pry the Galra’s jaws off of his arm. Lance almost cheered in admiration as the Galra swept the guard clean off his feet with a powerful swipe of his cat like tail. Then he mentally scolded himself; no matter how skilled the Galra appeared, he was still an enemy to Altea.

Lance fiddled with the idea of taking out his lute to play an epic battle tune, perhaps to raise the spirits of the guards. They were growing aggravated and flustered, and it showed in the sloppy jabs of their swords. No matter how many times they charged, the Galra easily knocked them aside.

Only when one guard took a desperate swing with his torch did Lance get a clear picture of the Galra looked like. Not that he’d seen a Galra in the flesh before, but he swore that face was no more than a year or two older than him. The purple face was framed with long black hair and two intensely yellow eyes.

Although the wild swing of the torch missed by a hair’s length, the Galra’s defenses were exposed for one split second, and the guard retaliated with a broad slash to the Galra’s shoulder. The force was not nearly enough to chop the limb off, but Lance winced at the howl of pain from the Galra. Liquid black blood spattered against the forest floor.

Lance half expected the fight to be over then and there, but the Galra responded rapidly with a slash at the man’s face. By the stars, the young Galra even had animalistic claws, sharper than a snake’s fangs. Three scratches oozed with blood as the guard stumbled back out of range of those deadly claws.

But the Galra stumbled over his own paws too, and Lance knew soon the adrenaline from the battle would fade, with pain to soon take its place. To the Galra’s credit, he still wielded his dagger and fought viciously, parrying as many thrusts as he could. One guard aimed a well placed jab at the Galra’s ear while his back was turned, and purple fur and inky black blood were flung into the air.

Lance winced again as another guard jabbed his durable boot into the leg of the Galra, catching him off guard and sending him tumbling down. Lance had learned many sparring tips from the alcoholics in the bar, one being that once one was knocked off their feet in a fight, it was all over. Before the Galra could even bleakly hope to gather his bearings, the guards pounced on him, pressing their weight to hold him down.

In the dying torchlight, one of the guards produced a thick wade of rope. Lance had been under the impression a Galra was killed instantly upon capture, but perhaps they were also taken to prison. Perhaps even tortured, he realized with a deep shudder.

The guards quickly set to tying the Galra up, a task proven difficult by the wild thrashing of the beast. Their irate voices meshed together, with Lance only catching glimpses of their tight conversation.

“Quick, quick, tie it down-“

“Stupid piece of absolute _shit_ , it scratched me right on the cheek-“

“Watch yourself, it’s a fighter-“

For some unfathomable reason, Lance’s stomach curdled as the guards leaned back, the Galra tightly secured. The Galra snarled loudly, earning a brutal punch to the face. The guard with the bleeding cheek hauled the Galra up by his injured ear, and the hisses of fury quickly changed to hisses of pain.

Lance grinded his fingers into the dirt beneath him. Although it was wrong, absolutely _wrong_ as an inhabitant of Altea, he couldn’t help but feel a shred of pity for the Galra. Although the Galra was growling and spitting in ferocity, his flat ears and widened eyes verified his fear. Every creature in both kingdoms knew the penalty of sneaking past borders; death.

Lance cast his look away from the torch fire, and his excellent vision kicked back in. All around the clearing was the pitch black forest, but he still couldn’t detect any signs of more Galra lurking in the darkness. Perhaps this Galra really was a loner.

But he couldn’t help but also take note of just how deeply the forest was entrenched in the cover of the night. If he could provide distraction for just long enough...

Hunk’s earlier complaints about magic were inherently wrong, especially not in regards to Lance. Having abandoned his family’s nobility at a young age, he never properly learned how to channel his magic. And since even seeing another of his species made him ill, he’d never found a mentor to fill in the gap. No, his magic was as wild and untameable as a beast, but his determination was unmatched.

Lance elevated himself to his hands and knees, still crouched out of sight. He had only minutes, if that, before the guards either slaughtered the Galra where he lay, or shipped him off to some hellhole prison.

With vigilant grace, he slipped the lute off of his shoulder. He crawled at a snail’s pace over to a position further from the clearing. Enough to be out of sight, but close enough to continue to observe. His heart thumped briefly as he glanced towards the clearing, but the Galra continued to wiggle under his restraints.

 _Focus_. That was one of the few lessons his mother had given to him before Lance fled his home. Magic required _focus_. If he was going to successfully pull his crazy scheme off, it would require all of his attentive focus. But first, he needed to grasp their attention. Once the guard keeping watch turned his back, Lance picked up a rock and chucked it deep into the forest.

The guard snapped his head up at the deep thump of something banging against a tree in the forest. Their first assumption, Lance knew, would probably be a beast stalking in the woods, but one couldn’t be too sure. Galra, after all, typically traveled in pairs. The guard turned his head to bark an order to hurry up and finish the deed, until the music began to play.

It was if a musician had appeared out of nowhere to perform a song for them. The distinct notes of a stringed instrument played clearly, but there was nobody in the clearing aside from the royal guards and captured Galra. They spun around, but no yellow eyes gleamed at them from the murky blackness. None that they could see, anyways.

“What the devil is that?” One guard swore as the music rose in volume.

“A gang of bards, I reckon. No doubt here to loot,” another guard said, before pausing. “You think it could be some _Galra_ bards?”

“No, you idiot. These mindless beasts can barely speak the common tongue, much less play an instrument,” the scratched guard kicked the captured Galra with a sneer laced with malice.

Despite his current situation, the Galra pricked an ear at the distant melody. There was such a curious look in his yellow eyes that Lance suspected the Galra wasn’t fooled by the sound.

Unbeknownst to the group of guards, the culprit of the sound was concealed in the grass hardly a yard away from their feet. Lance’s fingers plucked the strings of his lute, but the sound didn’t come from the instrument itself. His magic carried the music further into the woods, as though he was playing on the other side of the forest.

It was a cheap little illusion trick he had picked up observing a traveling band of bards. He always used it to play tiny pranks in the village, but he never thought it would actually prove useful, until now.

“Probably some bards using the Galra alert as a cover to steal,” the scratched guard spat, the sinister tone in his voice not masked at all. Lance suppressed a shiver.

“Two of you, stay here and watch it. I don’t want anything else killing it,” he ordered, wiping some of the blood clotting the scratches on his cheek. Two of the guards were swallowed up by the darkness of the forest, oblivious to Lance biting his lip to prevent himself from laughing.

He hadn’t expected his plan to work so _smoothly_. Now, it was only the last two guards remaining to deal with. Lance shouldered his lute again and fumbled around in the dirt for another rock.

Meanwhile, the two remaining guards struggled to deal with getting the short end of the stick. They were keenly aware of the Galra’s yellow eyes watching their every movement, waiting for a key moment to strike.

“Better to just get rid of it, now,” one guard groused. The other unsheathed his sword, just to toy with the idea further, but halted when a shudder ran down his spine. He turned his head, and the last thing he witnessed before seeing stars was a rock rushing towards his forehead.

Both Galra and guard were speechless as the man collapsed like a dead weight to the forest floor. Immediately Lance hopped back from the unconscious man, wincing as he shook the hand clutching the rock.

“Man, that hurt,” he groaned, massaging his wrist. Then he remembered the second guard, who hurried to free his weapon from its scabbard. Lance bit down on a panicked screech as the guard charged at him.

Before the guard could stab the sword into Lance’s gut, something glimmered in the Galra’s eyes. He lashed out at the running guard with his tail, tripping him up. As the guard slammed into the dirt on his hands and knees, his sword clattered inches away from his fingers.

Lance only allowed himself a second to gawk at the Galra who had just assisted him. _Focus_ , he reprimanded himself, his eyes honing in on the sword now lying unclaimed in the clearing.

Inhaling a deep breath, Lance risked a lunge forward to grab the weapon before the guard could recover. His fingers clamped around the handle. He quickly tucked and rolled away from the guard, hardly feeling the impact of the guard’s attempts to seize him by the collar.

The guard would have dived forward to strangle Lance, had the Galra not rolled himself onto his back. That surprisingly strong tail wrapped itself around the guard’s waist, yanking him back from ripping Lance to shreds.

Lance didn’t even know how to properly yield a sword, but he had no intentions of using the blade. The guard cursed the Galra loudly and wretched the tail off of him, only to be met with the pommel of his sword to the side of his head. He fell just as his companion had moments ago.

Only when he was positive the guard was unconscious did Lance allow his muscles to relax. He lowered the sword in his hands and panted, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. In spite of everything, in spite of him just assaulting two royal guards, he threw his head back and laughed.

“I cannot believe that actually worked,” he gasped with delight, sitting back on his legs. Of course, the credit couldn’t be contributed _solely_ to him, but... his plan had been a success. If the story wouldn’t give Hunk a heart attack induced by stress, Lance was tempted to brag about it later.

“I didn’t think it would work out so smoothly! I mean, still had to deal with those two, but technicalities, right?” Lance gestured to both guards, not sure if he was speaking to the Galra or himself. The Galra slinked his tail away from the fallen guard and sized up the newcomer, or as well as he could from his prone position.

Lance reveled in his victory for only a few more seconds before regarding the depth of the forest. The tussle with the guards would’ve provided enough distraction that the music would have ended by now, meaning the other guards would be returning soon.

“Alright, we don’t have much time,” he said, forcing himself back to reality. Stepping over the unconscious guard, Lance approached the captured Galra.

He could hardly believe his eyes. The Galra in his childhood stories were described as massive hulking beasts, with repulsive snouts and massive fangs. But this Galra – for one, he was tiny, shorter than Lance. And he certainly wasn’t ugly, but Lance could see hints of sharp teeth under the Galra’s snarl.

He knelt down by the Galra, intensely aware of the yellow eyes studying him. The Galra’s expression gave away nothing, no hints of anger or kindness. But there was no backing out now; Lance was already in massive trouble by attacking two guards. What was rescuing a captured Galra?

Lance lifted the sword again, earning a deep growl from the Galra. When Lance instead used the blade to hack at the restraints, the Galra fell silent again. The ropes binding the Galra easily yielded to the guard’s sword.

Lance’s mind raced to keep his plan afloat. Hopefully, this Galra could understand enough of the common tongue to comprehend Lance’s words. “Okay, we’ll have to hurry. Those other guards will be back any minute.”

The last rope snapped, freeing the Galra. Lance brushed the shredded cords of rope aside, biting his lip as the Galra rolled his shoulders back. The beast remained silent, allowing Lance to start breathing again.

Fast as a bird, the Galra lashed out one claw and griped Lance’s arm, an action that caused him to flinch. He yelped in fright as the Galra threw his weight onto him, pinning him to the grass beneath them. The Galra pressed his knees into Lance’s legs, trapping him underneath. Lance thought to scream but the yellow eyes glaring at him quickly shut his mouth.

“And what do you think _you’re_ doing?” The Galra snarled, in near perfect usage of the common language. Lance couldn’t help but blink. He’d expected the Galra to have a deep, scratchy voice that resembled more of a wolf’s howl than anything else, but this Galra... his voice was normal, young sounding, not unlike Lance’s.

As if sensing Lance’s wandering thoughts, the Galra dug his claws further into Lance’s shoulders. He feebly attempted to struggle, but realized with a cold sweat the beast physically outmatched him. He remained in place, trapped under the sneering Galra.

“W-well, what do you think _you’re_ doing? I’m trying to save you!” Lance retorted. Here he was, risking his neck to help save another, and he was being thanked with claws pressed against his throat. The Galra made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff.

“As if I’d ever believe that. As if an _Altean_ would ever help a Galra for nothing in return,” the Galra hissed and unsheathed his claws. Lance thought he might actually have to beg for his life, but shouts echoed through the forest and caught both of their attentions. The guards must have finally realized they had been deceived.

“Hey!” Lance recoiled as the Galra pounced. But instead of slitting Lance’s throat, the Galra leapt off of him and broke into a run. The Galra took only a few pained steps before his injured leg caved in. He roared in pain as he tripped into the grass.

Lance pulled himself up, ignoring the throbbing ache in his shoulders, and rushed to the Galra’s side. He offered a helping hand, but earned only a sneer in return.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Lance said. Of course, the Galra ignored his advice and sat up, shaking himself like a dog to rid himself of leaves and dirt. Lance’s eyes lingered on the wounds on the Galra’s shoulder and ear, still dribbling black blood.

“Let’s just calm down, alright? We gotta get out-“

“Get down!” The Galra pounced again and shoved him into the filth of the ground. Lance briefly considered slapping the Galra’s claws away, but stopped when he heard noise. The Galra’s actions had been just in time, for the guards emerged from the forest and entered the clearing. They roared in complete disbelief at their unconscious companions and remains of ropes. Lance couldn’t help but linger his gaze on their sharp blades.

“We have to get back to the tavern,” he said, his heart beginning to race again. “They won’t suspect you’re in there.”

The Galra narrowed his eyes. “What sort of fool do you take me for? Entering a place infested with humans is a death trap.”

Why did he have to be so irritable and stubborn? If the soldiers weren’t feet in front of them, Lance might have screamed in utter frustration. He ran a hand through his hair and then gripped the Galra’s uninjured shoulder.

“Look, if we’re going to get out of this alive, you’re gonna have to trust me, alright?”  
  
The Galra’s sneer didn’t bulge. Lance heard a guard bark orders to search the area, and he gritted his teeth.

“We don’t have time to argue, okay? Come on!” Lance dragged the protesting Galra by the arm behind him. He didn’t pause for even a split second to check if the guards spotted the two retreating figures. All he could do was run, run as fast as his feet could carry him.

Despite being dragged by his forearm, the Galra never faltered a single step. Both Elf and Galra left the guard’s enraged cries behind and vanished under the cover of the night.

\--

Lance tore the closet door open. He couldn’t waste any time; he didn’t know how long the Galra’s patience would last, or if a customer’s drunken curiosity would prompt them to explore the back tavern. Or, the stars above forbid, the Galra succumbed to his wounds.

Luckily, thanks to Hunk’s paranoia and the violent tendencies of some customers after too many drinks, some medical supplies were kept in the back closet of the kitchen. Lance cursed his younger self for not paying attention to the brief teachings of magic he received from his mother. If he had, he could’ve snapped his fingers and clean the Galra’s wounds instantly. He resorted to grabbing as much as he could hold and kicked the closet behind him.

He quickly fetched a bowl of warm water and cut through the crowd of customers to get back to the hallway in the tavern. Some merciful god must be watching over him, since Hunk was too swamped with customers to take notice of him, and nobody gave a second thought to him sneaking through the crowd. He vanished out of the taproom with ease.

In the hallway, the drunken singing and shouting was hardly audible. Lance tapped his foot against the closet door, just so the Galra sitting inside wouldn’t be tempted to attack him as soon as he entered. He used his hip to push the door open.

“Just me,” he said, before the Galra curled up in the corner could hiss. The closet darkened once he shut the door, but both of them possessed eyes designed to see well in the dark. The Galra pressed himself into the corner, his tail and fur bristling.

Lance just took a deep breath and knelt down. He'd watched enough tavern workers clean the wounds caused by drunken brawls; surely, he could do this. All he had to do was ensure the Galra wouldn’t bleed out.

As his hands moved to prepare the cloth he’d brought, Lance was acutely aware of yellow eyes studying his every move. If he was in pain, the Galra didn’t express it. Lance only wished he would stop pressing himself into the corner, like a caged animal.

“Okay. That should do,” Lance grunted, wringing the cloth over the lukewarm water. The Galra had been shoved and kicked around in the filth, and Lance doubted the swords of the guards were clean, so his wounds needed tending to. He inched closer to the Galra, who curled his lips back to reveal sharp yellow fangs.

“Easy, easy. Hold out your arm,” Lance said, in as soothing and low a voice he could muster. The Galra growled and shrank away from his touch, forcing his injured shoulder against the wall. Lance placed his hands on his hips with a heavy sigh.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. You can trust me." Lance held up one hand to show he was unarmed. The Galra quickly scanned his waist or a knife or blade attached to his belt, narrowing his eyes when there was none. After a silent moment, he growled and finally held out his arm.

Lance couldn’t help but smile. They were getting _somewhere_ , at least. Still keeping a healthy amount of caution, Lance opened the tear in the Galra’s raggedy shirt, revealing the jagged wound. By now, the black blood clotted around the massive cut, expanding across his shoulder. Painful – but not life threatening.

“Alright, this might sting a little,” he warned, trying not to think about how close he was to those deadly fangs and claws. How easy it would be for the Galra to sink his teeth into Lance’s exposed neck.

Lance pressed the cloth against the Galra’s shoulder wound with little force. Other than a thrash of his tail, the Galra didn’t react. So Lance wiped the wound clean, inspected it closely, and nodded in satisfaction.

It wasn’t until he pressed that cloth against the Galra’s shredded ear did the Galra have an actual reaction. He snarled, and Lance immediately retreated back a few paces.

“That hurt.” The Galra scowled. He made no move to hurt Lance, however, and perhaps that was why Lance felt his confidence return.

“Well, do you want it to get infected?” He crossed his arms. Again, the Galra softly snarled, but extended his ear out again. Lance resumed cleaning, frowning when hardly anything of the Galra’s cat like ear remained.

Still, the yellow eyes followed his hands. The only really concerning wound was the Galra’s shredded ear. There was the gash on his shoulder, and the injury on his leg, but aside from a few minute cuts and bruises, the Galra was in relatively good shape.

Later, when Lance was bandaging the same shoulder wound, the Galra surprised him by speaking. “Why did you rescue me back there?”

The question caught Lance off guard. It took him a moment to formulate a proper answer.  
  
“Well... you seemed like you were close to my age, and I felt bad, seeing the guards gain up on you.”

The Galra studied him for a moment, not bothering to mask the scorn on his face. “How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Close enough.” Lance rolled his eyes, growing more irritated by the minute. He finished wrapping the Galra’s shoulder wound up, and the Galra carefully sniffed the bandage now concealing the cut.

“Why would you pity an enemy? You’re Fae, are you not?”

“ _No_ , I’m not. I’m an Elf,” Lance answered, tersely. Elves and Fae were commonly confused for one another, both possessing curious often blue eyes, and long pointy ears. What separated them were the facial markings unique to the Fae.

“That was foolish of you. My species is a threat to your kingdom,” the Galra said, his monotone irking Lance. He rolled his eyes again, but couldn’t find it in him to regret saving the Galra. The Galra was young, after all, and didn’t deserve to be brutally murdered for being something he couldn’t control.

“But... it was still brave, and selfless of you, to risk your life to save mine, Elf,” the Galra admitted reluctantly a moment later. Suddenly, his eyes shyly studied the floor. “You have my gratitude.”

Lance beamed. Perhaps the Galra weren’t so bad, after all. “You got a name, Galra?”

For a moment he didn’t answer, studying Lace for any dark or ulterior movies. He couldn’t find any. “Keith. I was called Keith in the army.”

“Great name, Keith. I’m Lance.” He held out an outstretched hand. Keith wrinkled his nose in confusion, simply staring at his palm.

“Oh. It’s uh, to shake hands. It’s how we Elves greet one another.”

“Interesting,” Keith said, tilting his head. He awkwardly grasped Lance’s outstretched hand. An electrifying shock passed up Lance’s spine. Keith’s hand was vaguely human shaped up close, perhaps a little larger than Lance’s.

He was holding the hand of a Galra. Few Alteans lived to tell accurate tales of the Galra, and Lance was here holding the _hand_ of one.

Keith continued to look intently at him, waiting for further instructions. With a jolt, Lance realized he had zoned out staring at their hands.

“Right, yeah. Nice to meet you,” Lance coughed and pulled his hand back to his side. Keith copied him and lowered his own hand. Lance massaged the back of his neck, hoping his face wasn’t blushing in embarrassing.

“So, uh, Keith. You hungry?”

Moments later, Lance was slipping into the kitchen undetected. By that point of the night, the late hours had driven half of the crowd out, the other remaining crowds engaged in drinking games. Most of the food supplies for the night were used up, save for a few burnt loaves of bread shoved into the back of the kitchen.

Lance grabbed whatever remained and retrieved a candlestick from one of the tables, to provide some light in the dingy closet. He then shimmied his way through the collection of tables in the taproom and started back down the hallway, until the hair on the back of his neck rose.

He wasn’t alone. He spun around to be greeted with large, strong arms squeezing him tightly.

“Lance! Oh my gosh, I thought the royal guards arrested you, or even worse, and I was so swamped with customers I couldn’t-“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, bud.” Lance interrupted his friend’s ramblings, as Hunk was prone to doing. He finally dropped Lance back onto his feet and opened his mouth to say more, but cut himself off.

“Uh. Why do you have all that bread?”

 _Oh._ Right. Lance had momentarily forgotten who he’d hidden in the closet. He was counting on Hunk not discovering him until tomorrow, saving Lance the hassle of an explanation.

“Okay, Hunk, you have to promise not to be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” Hunk raised an eyebrow. Unable to meet his gaze, Lance turned on his heels and resumed walking down the hallway. Hunk quickly caught up to him.

“’Cause you _always_ get mad at me when I try to do anything."

“Lance. Why would I be mad?” Suspicion crept up in Hunk’s voice. Lance reached the closet door and halted his hand on the wooden frame. Already, he could tell his situation was going to turn very ugly once Hunk learned what he had done.

“Well, you see, I sorta-“

Lance didn’t get to finish his sentence. The closet door creaked open a crack, and a pair of yellow eyes peeked out. Keith must’ve heard them speaking.

“That’s... that’s a Galra,” Hunk blurted. Lance cringed at the slack jaw shock on Hunk’s face.  
  
Hissing with fury, Keith pitched the door open and lunged, unsheathing his claws. Hunk screeched in a high pitched voice, prompting Lance to also rush forward. He flung himself in between the two, dropping his bread loaves onto the floor, and winced in anticipation at the Galra claws about to sink into his flesh.

“No, no, no, easy, easy! He’s my friend!” Lance held up both hands. Somehow, Keith managed to halt himself in his tracks to avoid tearing Lance apart. Still shrieking in fear, Hunk cowered behind Lance for protection.

Keith sniffed the air and then grimaced, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He looked at Hunk ducking behind Lance and sneered. “What is a filthy _Dwarf_ doing here?”

The insult was just cutting enough to make Hunk snap his gaze back up. Placing a hand upon his hip, he retorted, “Oh, as opposed to a _Galra_ , who isn’t even allowed to be here?”

Keith answered with a snarl, and Hunk yelped again. Faster than Lance could blink, Keith unsheathed that deadly dagger and held it out. “Then would you like to see who is the superior, Dwarf?”

“No, no, stop! Nobody is gutting anybody!” Lance slapped the claw wielding the dagger away from Hunk. Keith gnashed his teeth in response.

“What is a Galra doing in here? How did it get in?” Hunk hissed into his ear. Lance shot him a look, as if to say he’d explain later. Preferably when said Galra was not pointing a blade in their faces.

“Hunk won’t hurt you, I promise.” Lance returned his gaze to Keith. After a moment’s careful assessment, Keith growled something under his breath and turned away with a flick of his tail. The closet door shut behind him with a hushed thud.

“Why is there a Galra in the closet?” Hunk shrieked. Lance slammed a hand onto his mouth and checked the area around them. None of the customers or staff had wandered into the hallway.

“ _Shhh_ , do you _want_ us to get caught?”

“Answer the question!” Hunk forced the hand off his mouth.

“Okay, okay. That Galra activity they told us about earlier turned out to be only one Galra, so I... sorta helped him escape,” Lance explained, in the simplest way he could muster. But Hunk was still standing there, sputtering for words.

“Why would you _do_ that? The Galra aren’t even _allowed_ to enter Altea! If they find that Galra in here, they’ll cut your head off!” Hunk exclaimed, pointing at the closet.

“Well, they’re not going to find Keith in here,” Lance stubbornly said, crossing his arms across his chest. Hunk groaned loudly and slapped his forehead in despair.

“Oh great, you _named_ it? This is horrible, we’re going to get arrested...” Hunk moaned. Lance scrunched his face in confusion.

“What? No, of course I didn’t _name_ him. And we’re not going to be arrested,” Lance added, bending over to pick up the discarded loaves of bread. Hunk removed the hand from his forehead.

“Wait... you didn’t? You’re telling me the Galra actually _have_ names?”

“Look, Hunk, you can stay out of this if you want. Just go back to work and make sure nobody comes down here.” Lance ushered him down the hallway. He could at least rely on Hunk to do that. No matter how fanatical Lance’s plans were, Hunk had never failed him before.

“You must be serious about this. You actually care about that Galra?” Hunk asked, dubious. Lance just nodded, considering if he would have to pout to convince Hunk to lend his hand.

But Hunk only regarded him with genuine concern. “Lance, _please_ promise me you’ll be careful. How do you know that Galra won’t stab you in the back the moment the opportunity presents itself?”

“He won’t. Trust me,” Lance reassured him, although his reasoning sounded just as illogical to him as it must sound to Hunk, who eventually sighed and caved in.

So Hunk returned to the taproom, albeit with a deep grumble under his breath. Lance waited until he was out of view before rushing back into the closet.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized after earning a seething glare. Keith curled himself on the floor again, looking indignant.

“But don’t worry, Hunk’s my friend. He won’t tell anyone about you, I promise.”

“You’re an Elf, and yet you’re friends with a disgusting Dwarf?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I am. And don’t call Hunk that,” Lance sharply added. Prejudices against Hunk’s species were something his friend struggled to deal with, and Lance wouldn’t stand for anyone slandering Hunk.

Keith just looked away and said nothing more. What Lance once heard about the Galra was true – they were creatures of few words. He plopped down onto the floor of the closet and ripped a loaf of bread in half, offering one to Keith.

Keith curled his lip back at the bread. Lance blinked. “What, do you _still_ not trust me?”  
  
Keith swung his yellow gaze directly up at him, but remained silent. With an exaggerated sigh, Lance tore a chunk off of the loaf and popped it into his mouth.

“See? Not poisoned,” he said after swallowing. He held the bread out. Keith gingerly accepted it, staring at the loaf of bread as though he’d never seen food before in his life. After a moment’s inspection and a wary sniff, he reluctantly bit into it before proceeding to spit it right back out on the floor.

“ _Aww_ , dude, gross!” Lance scurried away from the spit. Keith chucked the bread at the wall and frantically wiped at his tongue, hissing at the taste.

“That was the foulest thing I’ve ever tasted,” Keith growled at the loaf of bread. “What is it?”

“Uh, bread?” Lance moved the tossed loaf of bread into the corner with his foot. Keith stared blankly at him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten bread before.”

“I’ve only ever eaten meat before,” Keith said.

Lance raised both of his eyebrows. “No kidding?”

“We hunt our own prey. When there is prey to be chased,” Keith answered. Lance assumed he was referring to the desolate wastelands of the Galra kingdom, a land never blessed with the rays of the run and cloaked in an eternal gloom. Nothing green ever grew there, which probably explained the lack of animals.

“Well, I don’t think there’s any meat left in the kitchen, but I can get you some tomorrow,” Lance said. For a split second, Keith allowed himself to express his astonishment.

“I’m staying here?”

“Yeah, Hunk’s closing up soon. You can stay here tonight and leave tomorrow, if you want,” Lance said, retrieving the fallen candlestick at his side. He placed it upright and pointed a finger. Smoke emitted from his fingertip, and the candle wick caught fired.

Keith watched closely with intrigue. “Magic. You used that to rescue me, did you not?”

“Yeah, I did. Just a little trick I picked up.” Lance blew the smoke from his fingertip. He immediately thought of a bad joke, and the temptation was too strong.

“I guess you could say... I’m on fire?” Lance snapped and pointed his fingers at Keith, who blinked and ran his gaze down the length of Lance’s body.

“There are no flames on you.”

“No, it’s, uh... never mind.” Lance gave up with a wave of his hand.

Awkward silence descended upon the pair. Lance’s cheeks became stained with color, most likely from a lack of knowing what to say. He was sitting in a closet with a Galra, by the stars above. Without warning, Keith edged closer to him, causing the room to grow a little bit warmer.

“I owe you a great deal for saving my life,” Keith said. Did the Galra have no sense of personal space? Keith was practically on top of him, and the serious glimmer in his eyes made Lance squirm.

“Seriously, it was no big deal.”

“Do you think your Dwarven friend would have done the same, had he been in your position?” Keith pointedly asked.

“Maybe. Hunk’s not a bad guy.” Lance stood up for his friend, but had to concede Keith was right. Hunk was terrified of the Galra, as were most Alteans. Rightfully so, but Lance doubted any of them would so much as lift a finger to help a Galra.

“You could have easily left me to the guards – most Alteans would. And yet you rescued me, for no gain of your own.” Keith’s eyes seemed to pierce right through him. Why was the praise so easily flustering Lance?

“I’m telling you, it was nothing,” Lance said, rubbing his forearm. He wished Keith would back up an inch or two.

“In any case, I am in debt to you, and I shall repay it in any way I can,” Keith firmly replied. Admittedly, Lance never thought a Galra would have such a strong sense of justice. Maybe that was why Keith traveled alone - maybe he was an outsider to his species, too.

Maybe, Lance mused as Keith frowned and pawed at the piece of bread, they weren’t so different after all.

\--

Sneaking Keith into the upper floor of the tavern was not a difficult task once the customers stumbled and staggered out. Lance waited, using his excellent Elven hearing to listen for retreating footsteps, until the staff closed the establishment for the night. Once Lance was sure most of the workers left the tavern after cleaning up, he motioned for Keith to follow.

As he suspected, the tavern was closed, and all the customers returned to their homes. Hunk was more than likely reaffirming the other staff left as well, to make sure nobody saw the illegal Galra lurking around.

Not difficult at all - aside from Keith snarling at every little sound and creak in the tavern. Not that Lance could entirely blame him for practicing caution, but after the fifth time of dragging Keith away from pursuing some obscure noise, he was starting to grow weary of it.

Lance finally managed to reach the upper floor, hauling Keith by the collar to keep him under control. Keith’s fur eventually lay flat when they were out of viewing sight. Upstairs was where Lance’s and Hunk’s rooms were located, where no intrigued customers could reach them.

Although perhaps calling them proper rooms was a touch _too_ generous. They were hardly bigger than closets, having been storage rooms before two starving poor boys showed up at the tavern owner’s doorstep. The tavern owner, upon realizing he could get cheaper labor out of Hunk in exchange for a place to stay, quickly cleaned the two storage rooms and stuck beds in them.

“Make sure you’re quiet in here,” Lance warned upon opening the door. Keith peered inside, with a curious twinkle in his eyes, prompting Lance to wonder what the living conditions were like in the Galra kingdom. Did they even have the luxury of private bedrooms?

He assumed his answer was confirmed when Keith warily approached the bed. He set one paw upon the mattress, jumping back with a hiss as the bed creaked with age. So Lance stepped forward and patted the bed, reassuring him it was safe.

“Don’t worry, it’s just old. It’s safe,” Lance said. After another careful sniff, Keith hopped onto the bed with the grace of a cat. Lance was almost tempted to laugh at the absurdity of the sight – a Galra, crouched awkwardly on his own bed. Keith looked uncomfortable.

“You never slept on one of these before, huh?” Lance guessed with a faint chuckle.

Keith noticed the pillow resting on the head of the bed. He stared at it intently while Lance leaned back out of the doorframe. The halls remained isolated and empty.

“Well, you can sleep in my bed for tonight. I’ll bet it’s much cozier than-“

Lance’s mouth slammed shut upon a loud tearing sound. He whirled around to see Keith and the pillow positioned on his lap. Keith finished dragging one claw along the length of the pillow, ripping it other shreds, before reaching in and freeing the soft material within. he gave it an inspecting sniff.

“What’re you _doing_?” Lance shrieked despite the need to remain quiet. He burst forward and yanked the pillow away from Keith.

“Man, that was my only one...” Lance stared, crestfallen, at what little remains of his pillow. But Keith remained oblivious to the damage his had caused, and was already hopping off the bed to explore. Lance’s heart thumped as the Galra jumped onto the tiny dresser in the corner, which contained what little clothes Lance owned.

“Do not rip those!” Lance ordered, dropping the shredded pillow. Keith’s paw slipped on a knob of one dresser slot, sending it crashing to the floor and spilling clothes everywhere. While Lance fell to his knees and hastily gathered them up, Keith opened another drawer and chirped in curiosity.

“Stay out of there!” Lance tugged on the back of Keith’s shirt. Keith ignored him, once again, and shoved his face into the open drawer. When he lifted his head again, one of Lance’s shirts was somehow caught on his face.

Keith snarled and pawed at the clothing smothering his face. Lance rolled his eyes and pulled the shirt free. He opened his mouth to scold him to stay still, but Keith was already climbing over the dresser and crawling across the floor back to the bed, making a whole collection of noise while doing so.

Lance hissed at him to quiet down. Besides the old bed was a pitifully tiny excuse for a nightstand. Keith curiously eyed the writing materials resting atop it, taking a special interest in the bottle of ink. He lifted the little bottle with the tips of his claws and stuck his tongue out, as if to lick it.

“No, no, no, do _not_ eat that.” Lance tripped over himself in his hurry to rush over. He snatched the bottle away, receiving a hiss of annoyance from Keith. Whatever patience he’d mustered for the past few minutes snapped like a twig.

“And do not hiss at me while I’m trying to help you,” Lance ordered, pointing a stern finger. Keith’s snarl increased in volume, and with the crouched position on fours he held, he appeared more animalistic than ever before.

“If you’re going to stay here for the night, you are going to be _quiet_. And you’re going to _listen_ to me if you want to stay alive.” Lance knew threatening him might not be the wisest idea, especially since Keith was armed with teeth and claws while Lance was empty handed.

A moment passed with nothing but furious tension between the two. Lance briefly wondered if Keith would pounce on him, ripping him apart with those terribly sharp claws and fangs.

To his utter shock, Keith quieted his growling and flattened his ears, looking less hostile. With an exhausted sigh, Lance rubbed his face with a hand.

“Just... just sit on the bed while I clean.”

He goggled as Keith silently obeyed, crawling back onto the bed. Although he huffed and made a big show of sitting down, Keith actually listened for once. Lance was tempted to roll his eyes at the dramatic action, but decided against it.

Again, the room was quiet while Lance tidied up. He stuffed his pathetically small collection of clothes back into his dresser. Not that the owner of the tavern ever checked up on the boys living upstairs to see if they were well, but it would just be Lance’s luck for the owner to stumble upon the mess of his room and pitch a fit.

He finished lighting a candle when tiny voice sounded from the other side of the room. “What did you say this was?”

He turned, to see Keith staring at the bed he sat upon. Lance blinked. “You don’t know what a _bed_ is?”

Keith shrugged indifferently, but Lance was intrigued. He slammed the dresser shut and asked, “What, you guys don’t have these in your kingdom?”

Keith shrugged again. “Not for us soldiers, but perhaps our royal family. They live in the castles in our homeland.”

“So where do you guys live?” Lance knitted his brows in confusion.

“Usually we sleep on the ground. Perhaps in a cave or in a tree if we’re lucky to find one.”

 _By the stars_. Lance couldn’t even imagine it; he and Hunk had wandered onto the tavern not long after abandoning their homes. He couldn’t even recall the last time he hadn’t slept in his own bed.

“Damn, that – that sounds rough,” he blurted out. Keith swept his gaze across the room.

“I didn’t know that Alteans all had their own rooms and their own beds.” Keith blinked at the dresser, and then added, “I apologize for creating a mess.”

“No, no, it’s no big deal.” Only the royal family owning property, forcing all their subjects to the harshness of the outside – Lance appalled at the thought. No wonder Keith had torn the room apart in his awe and curiosity.

“Hunk will be glad I finally straightened the room up, anyways,” Lance joked, pushing the dresser back to its resting spot against the wall.

“I think the room looks lovely,” Keith said, innocent in his politeness. Lance snorted.

“If you think this room is fancy, you oughta see my bedroom back in the Elven kingdom.” He wistfully thought back to the large manor his family occupied, the large sweeping pillars and balcony that overlooked the rest of the Elven cottages. Even if he could never find it in his heart to return, Lance still found himself longing for that manor, if only to see his mother and sisters again.

“You’re a great distance away from the Elven kingdom,” Keith remarked. Lance restrained himself from tightening his grip on the knobs of his dresser.

“Let’s just say it was less than inviting back there,” Lance said in a tight voice. Luckily, Keith dropped the subject as Lance crossed the room and sat beside the bed.

“What about you, huh?” Lance plucked one of his boots off and gave it a shake to rid it of dirt. “Just doing the usual Galra pillaging shtick?”

“In theory, yes. I was separated from my group,” Keith answered. That explained why a Galra was wandering around the forest by himself.

“Is your group gonna be able to find you again tomorrow?” Lance shoved his boots under the bed.

Keith tilted his head, considering the question. “Perhaps, but I doubt they’d take me back, anyways.”

Lance jerked his head up, noting the considerable change in his tone. “Why?”

Before answering, Keith circled around on the bed, just like a housecat, before sprawling out on his stomach. Lance resisted the urge to smile at the cute sight of him curled up, coiling his tail around him.

“I’ve taken refuge with the worst enemy of my kind, and I’m unable to battle at this point,” Keith flicked the tattered remain of his ear. “In my current state, I’m useless to my king.”

“Your king sounds like a swell guy,” Lance murmured, resting his chin on the cushions of the bed and stretching out his legs.

“He desires only strong soldiers for his army. Anyone else is inadequate and uses up precious resources.”

 _Holy gods_. Lance found himself growing more disgusted with the Galra kingdom. Keith narrowed his eyes and asked, “But that’s not how Altea works, is it?”

“No. I mean, I hardly contribute shit around here,” Lance chuckled, resting his cheek on his forearm. “Hunk does most of that – I’m too young to work here, but they still let me stay.”

Keith looked astounded. “And your king doesn’t deem you _worthless?_ ”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. Can’t say I know him personally, but he seems to be a good guy.” Lance shrugged.

“Altea is a strange place,” Keith remarked. Lance huffed out a laugh. The faint smell of the candle wafted around the room, the dim light making Lance grow drowsy.

“Let me check your ear,” Lance reached out. Keith didn’t bristle, nor did he growl, allowing Lance to gently lift a strand of his raven black hair. His heart sank at the giant notch taken out of Keith’s ear, but the bleeding had ceased, and likely wouldn’t grow infected.

“Yeah, I think you’re fine. You Galra seem to be pretty sturdy,” Lance said, smoothing back the hair he’d lifted, enticing a content growl from Keith.

His earlier comparison of the Galra to a cat had been accurate, then. Lance thought for a moment, and then scratched behind the Galra’s ear with his fingertips.

Keith purred – actually _purred_. So Lance continued petting, slowly roaming his reach around the Galra’s ear. Keith’s eyes narrowed to tiny yellow slits, his tail thumping the bed in a satisfied rhythm.

“Aww, you’re like a big kitten.” Lance grinned, laughing in spite of himself. Oh, he just about wished he could tell someone about this. The Galra, the number one enemy of Altea, were capable of _purring_ like cats.

Keith huffed in exasperation, but leaned into Lance’s hand regardless. He began kneading the soft bed underneath him, those deadly claws now pushing against the blanket in contentment. Rubbing his fingers up Keith’s ear earned him a louder purr. Lance couldn’t help but laugh warmly at the sight.

When the door clicked open, Keith flung himself off of Lance’s touch and reared up. Lance’s heart skipped a beat. But it was just Hunk leaning into the doorframe, sparing Keith only a brief scathing glare.

“You’re some lucky I offered to stay here late to clean up,” Hunk grumbled.

“You know you love me.” Lance clapped his hands together and battered his eyelashes at his friend. Hunk grumbled again and pushed the door aside to reveal the blanket tucked under his arm.

“I thought you could use a spare,” Hunk said. He tossed the bundled up blanket to Lance.

“I knew I could count on you, buddy.” Lance easily caught the blanket with both hands.

During the entire exchange, Keith silently glared at Hunk, who returned the gesture. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Lance could’ve sworn the Galra edged closer to him.

“You’re crazy, Lance. _Utterly_ crazy,” Hunk said with a shake of his head. “Just keep that thing in here. I don’t want him anywhere near my room.”

“Same to you, _Dwarf_ ,” Keith spat, but dipped his head when Lance glared warningly at him.

“ _Keith_ will stay in here, Hunk, don’t worry,” Lance reassured his friend. Shaking his head again, Hunk simply retreated from the room and closed the door behind him.

Keith listened intently, both of his ears pricked, until Hunk’s footsteps were far from the room. Only then did he relax his hackles. He watched as Lance quickly constructed himself a makeshift bed using the blanket brought by Hunk.

“Alright, get some sleep. We’ll need it for tomorrow,” Lance said, stretching out on the floor. He sighed sleepily and snapped his fingers, snuffing out the candle and shrouding the room in darkness.

Above him, the bed creaked as Keith laid back down in a tight ball. The yellow light from Keith’s eyes ceased as he tucked his tail tip over his nose.

“Good night, Keith,” Lance said before turning over on his side. Sleeping on the floor wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a bed, but he could endure one night.

“What?” Keith asked seconds later. Lance didn’t even need to ask if he knew what the words meant.

“I said, good night.”

“Oh,” was all Keith said. Again he fell silent for a few seconds, before saying, “Good night.”

“’Night,” Lance repeated himself. He tucked his hands onto his stomach and waited, staring up at the pitch black ceiling.

It took a long while for the bed to stop creaking as Keith shot suspicious glances at the door, for the room to quiet down. But eventually, lance heard the breathes above him even out sleepily. Just to be sure, he craned his neck up, to see Keith peacefully slumbering.

Lance was growing drowsy as well, but his mind continued to wander. He still couldn’t _quite_ grasp the concept of a Galra sleeping in his bed, much less the fact that he’d willingly saved said Galra. Of all possibilities he considered upon leaving the tavern earlier, that was not one of them.

What he was doing was illegal, no doubt. Utterly illegal, and _insane_. Helping the mortal enemy of Altea, a member of the species that killed countless Alteans...

Maybe his father had been right. Lance winced at the memory of the many swears and insults his father hurled at him during those awful nights. Maybe Lance really was a no good, worthless Elf, no better than the Galra his homeland despised so much.

But Keith – Keith was _different_. Lance glanced up again at the bed. He could just barely make out the outline of him sleeping on the bed. Keith was a bit brash and a bit wild, yes, but he was certainly kind to Lance, at the very least.

It was so odd, Lance thought, that he’d been able to relate to the Galra so much. Keith was from a completely different land, but he understood Lance. And if Lance was feeling brave enough to admit it, he rather liked Keith. He liked how serious he was, how he had a curious look in his eyes upon seeing something new, how cute he was upon getting his ear scratched. Hell, he liked how stubborn Keith was, although he had a feeling it would grow to be irritable at times.

He actually _liked_ a Galra, enough to perhaps become friends with him. He silently scoffed and shook his head at himself. Hunk had called him insane among other things – he was beginning to understand why.

 _Tomorrow_. He’d deal with it tomorrow. He’d deal with what to do with Keith, deal with the growing conflict between Keith and Hunk, tomorrow. Maybe he’d find a way to sneak Keith back to his group – if his group accepted.

If not, well... Lance smiled as Keith let out a tired purr and rolled over. Then he folded his arms behind his head to act as a substitute pillow, and finally allowed himself to creep off into sleep.

If he wasn’t accepted back into his homeland, Lance didn’t think he would mind if Keith stuck around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: towards the end of this fic has some brief mentions of verbal abuse. It's nothing too plot driven nor explicit ( it's merely backstory provided for one character ) and shouldn't be much of a problem, but I just thought a warning was necessary. Otherwise, this chapter is mainly fluff and light plot.

Stifling a lazy yawn, Lance rolled over onto his side, inwardly wincing at how uncomfortable the stiff floor was to sleep on, even with the blanket underneath him. He figured it was around dawn, if the chilly morning air was anything to base his guess off. He despised the lack of windows in his room, which didn’t allow for the sun’s rays to creep in and bathe the room in some warmth.

Normally, he’d stay bundled in his layers of blankets until Hunk literally dragged him out of bed and insist he do something productive. But the events from last night – from assaulting two guards and sheltering an illegal inhabitant of the Altea kingdom – flooded back, and Lance supposed he had no choice but to force himself to start the day early.

He combed his fingers through his curly mess of hair and sat up, trying to be as silent as possible. If he startled the Galra sleeping on his bed, he suspected he might earn a pair of claws sinking into his flesh. Lance cautiously brushed his hand across the length of the mattress.

But he felt nothing. He jerked his head around, and saw nothing on the bed aside from his outstretched palm. Nothing but the discarded blanket to indicate the body that had previously been sleeping there.

Lance blinked. He proceeded to count to three, taking deep breathes, before he allowed himself to panic, before the gravity of the current situation sank in.

He had smuggled a Galra into his room, and now that very same Galra, Keith, was missing.

Wrestling himself free of his blanket, he shot to his feet and bolted, his bare feet slipping on the hardwood floor. No signs of his door being forced open or indications of a struggle. No, the Galra once hidden in his room had left of his own decision.

Lance walked as fast as he dared down the hall, not wanting his thunderous footsteps to awaken anybody. When he reached Hunk’s room, he silently peered into the doorframe. It was early enough in the day that not even Hunk was awake, still curled up under his blankets.

Lance winced at the thought of Hunk’s outburst if he discovered that Keith was missing.  Better to just let Hunk sleep and solve this predicament on his own. He hurriedly crept away from his friend’s bedroom and tip toed down the stairs to search.

Downstairs was eerily vacant, compared to the crowded mass of customers piled in there just last night. Lance’s heart threatened to beat right out of his chest as he rummaged through the kitchen, the main taproom, and the closet he’d previously sheltered the Galra in.

But there were still no traces of Keith. Lance threw the backdoor open, hardly feeling the chill of the morning breeze on his bare feet and face, hoping he’d see the Galra creeping around. He strained his pointed ears, but couldn’t hear anything.

The village they occupied was still dead to the world. There were no sounds of the early risers, no uproars or shrieks that may accompany the discovery of an illegal Galra. Lance slammed a hand in frustration against the door frame, no longer caring about the amount of noise he made, and fled back inside with the intent of combing the tavern over again.

Once he placed a foot on the stairs, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Maybe Keith had already taken leave of the tavern, under the cover of early morning, and returned to the group he had mentioned. Maybe he was already back in the Galra kingdom, already forgetting the name of the Elf who had cleaned his wounds.

He settled his foot onto the step. That should be good news. It would certainly brighten Hunk’s day to hear, and it meant one less worry for Lance, and yet...

And yet he found his heart sinking at the realization. He’d liked Keith, far more than he should, considering the Galra were the worst enemy to the Altean Kingdom. He had hoped the two of them would at least get a proper goodbye.

Lance’s heartbeat settled as he trudged up the remainder of stairs. He felt rather foolish now, for reading into their interactions too deeply. Where he thought there was something resembling a friendship budding between the two of them, Lance supposed Keith’s only thoughts were of how to return to his home.

But at least Keith would be happier – and safer – in his homeland. Lance was too weary to consider otherwise, how Keith might be caught by someone far less compassionate towards Galra. How in the future, when another skirmish would no doubt occur between the two rivaling kingdoms, Keith might be forced into that very quarrel.

Lance shoved his bedroom door opened and stared at the blanket on his floor. Right now, all he wanted to do was plant himself in his bed and sleep until noon. He would sleep until he could convince himself last night was all just a crazy dream he’d conjured up. He picked up the blanket Hunk had fetched him last night and tossed it onto his bed.

From the hallway outside his bedroom, footsteps climbed up the stairs and approached the corridor, heading unmistakably towards his room.

He didn’t let himself dare to hope. It was just Hunk getting up to begin the preparations for the day, coming to drag him out of bed to do something of use, like always. He swallowed hard and turned.

Keith shoved the door open with his shoulder blade, huffing in annoyance as if it were a major inconvenience. He strolled in on all fours, a tiny and feathery body occupying his jaws. Lance wordlessly watched as Keith approached him and dropped the dead chicken at his feet, before calmly sitting back on his haunches.

About a dozen questions banged and echoed around his skull. Lance was so tempted to demand where the Galra had been, why he had left the tavern when only death awaited him in the village, and why he had even bothered to come back. Yet the only words that left his mouth were, “What is that?”

“A chicken,” Keith flatly replied, as if talking to an idiot. Sure enough, the limp body lying on Lance’s bare feet was indeed a white chicken, freshly killed.

“Why did you bring it here?”

Keith shrugged. “I assumed it would make a suitable breakfast.”

Lance finally lifted his gaze to Keith’s, hating himself for how relieved he felt upon meeting that familiar yellow gaze. Keith was watching his reactions intently, as if... as if waiting for approval. To see if the food he’d brought him was adequate.

“And _where_ did you get it?”

“Some kind of...  wooden _cage_ was holding dozens of them. I’ve never seen so much food in one place,” Keith replied, picking some feathery remains off of his lips.

Holy stars. The situation was so bizarre Lance resisted the urge to laugh in poor Keith’s face. He delicately picked the chicken up by a leg, cringing when the animal’s head hung loosely.

“That’s a chicken coop you’re thinking of. And you can’t kill those chickens,” Lance said, not wanting to imagine how furious the farmer would be if he discovered a chicken missing. Keith wrinkled his nose.

“Why not? They’re just right _there_ , they don’t even fight back.”

“Because they don’t belong to you, for one. They belong to whatever farmer whose coop you raided,” Lance explained, holding the chicken out at an arm’s length.

Keith was staring at him as though he had grown two heads. “You Alteans own chickens in the dozens, and you don’t just _eat_ them?”

Lance opened his mouth to retort, but then he remembered what Keith had shared with him the night before. He couldn’t help but linger his gaze on Keith’s raggedly clothes that hung from his slim frame.

“We keep them for their eggs,” Lance explained. Keith narrowed his eyes and fell silent, looking deep in thought. Lance supposed for an outsider, it might be a hard concept to grasp.

“Anyways, unless you want to eat it...” Lance held out the dead chicken out again in offering; he ate meat whenever there was no other option, but one of the few lessons he clung to from his mother was to never take a life unless absolutely necessary, and that included animals. Keith stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, before turning his nose up.

 _Still reluctant to accept any sort of help._ But Lance didn’t expect Keith to lower his carefully guarded walls that effortlessly and quickly, anyways. Especially not now, when it seemed as though an inevitable goodbye lay perhaps only hours away from them.

“Well, I’m sure the kitchen won’t notice an extra chicken. You stay here while I sneak it down, alright?”

Again, Lance found himself surprised when Keith obeyed without as much as one complaint. Keith wordlessly hopped back onto his bed and plopped onto the mess of blankets.

Lance didn’t intend to say anything else until his return, but found himself pausing for a heartbeat in the door frame. He glanced again at the dead chicken, feathers beginning to cascade onto the floor.

“And Keith?”

Keith lifted his head at his name, cocking one ear in Lance’s direction.

“Thanks.”

And even later after leaving, even if the Galra laid back down without saying a word, Lance swore he saw a flicker of happiness on Keith’s face.

\--

By that point in time, Hunk had awoken and headed downstairs to begin his daily routine of cleaning the kitchen. Other than a raised eyebrow, Hunk had said nothing when Lance sheepishly presented the dead chicken to him. The two teeth marks on the chicken’s neck left little to speculate upon.

Then Hunk inquired as to whether Keith had finally left the tavern, and when Lance didn’t answer, he pointed out the dangers of keeping a Galra in Altea, dangers Lance was fully aware of. Had he not been forced to fight two royal guards in order to save Keith?

But even as Lance rolled his eyes at the lengthy lecture he’d earned from his friend, he had to concede that Hunk was correct. Hiding Keith in his room was a dangerous situation for both of them, and one slip up could easily result in Keith being discovered.

As much as Lance wished otherwise, he knew that it was time to return Keith to his group. Keith didn’t express any complaints about the matter, and Lance couldn’t quite tell if he was bothered by that or not.

So that was how moments later, after a quick scan of the tavern to ensure the area was all clear, Lance ended up where he had been last night, standing in the back of the tavern, surveying the forest. He placed his hands on his hips to prevent himself from nervously wringing them.

Once again, he was faced with the prospect of Galra lurking in the depths of the forest. Granted, the woods were not nearly as intimidating during the day, but he shivered at the thought nonetheless. Keith might be pleasant and friendly to him, but that might not extend itself to other Galra.

He turned to the Galra in question, who was sizing up the woods beside him with narrowed yellow eyes. Lance wondered how much Keith missed his group, if at all. He hadn’t protested when Lance suggested he should return, and yet, he didn’t look exactly thrilled, either.

“You think your group will be in there?” Lance asked, seeking any distraction from the muddled mess of his head. Keith flicked the tattered remains of his ear.

“Perhaps,” was all he said.

“Well, how about we trace your steps from where you were last night, and we’ll start there?” Lance suggested, gesturing for Keith to take the lead.

Keith sniffed the air, maybe searching for his companions, or exploring the new scents Altea had to offer. He jumped off the door frame and strolled off into the forest, with a casual indifference that Lance couldn’t hope to emulate. Lance clenched and unclenched his clammy hands as he followed him into the woods.

Keith walked several paces ahead, his ears pricked and attentive. Every few moments, he would pause and glance around the forest, his spine straightened, before continuing his guarded pace. Each time Keith halted at some foreign noise even Lance’s ears couldn’t detect, Lance’s heartbeat quickened all the more.

The forest was lively under the mid morning breeze. Birds chirped their morning songs overhead, twigs snapped under the paws of creatures hidden in the bushes. Even the breeze seemed to whisper hushed warnings through the tall grass. Although Lance knew his imagination was getting the better of him, he could swear that ravenous yellow eyes followed him from the shadows.

“So who’s in your group, anyways?” Lance asked. He didn’t want to know more about the horrible Galra kingdom, but a distraction would be sincerely welcomed.

Keith didn’t turn his head as he answered, “Mainly new recruits to our army, such as myself.”

“So there’s a bunch of young Galra running around in Altea?”

“Not unsupervised, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Numerous older soldiers accompanied us,” Keith said tightly. Not out of annoyance towards Lance, but the aforementioned soldiers.

Lance brushed a low hanging branch out of his face. “Not fond of ‘em?”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

Keith tilted his head to the side, pausing again to check the area. “You ask a lot of questions.”

He wished Keith would show some damn emotion in his voice, so he could tell what the Galra was thinking. Lance blushed, feeling slightly foolish. “Sorry.”

“I never claimed it was a bad thing. I’m just... not used to it,” Keith confessed.

Catching Lance’s interest, he quickened his pace to lessen the gap between them. Behind him, a lone breeze rustled the branches of the trees around them, sounding uncomfortably similar to nails scraping against a window pane.

 “Questions are kept to a minimum in our kingdom. Daring to make inquires against our king can have you labeled a traitor,” Keith explained.

Lance cringed. “The more I hear about your kingdom, the more I feel sorry for you.”

Keith shrugged indifferently. “Don’t waste your time with useless pity.”

Lance opened his mouth to retort, but halted when he heard what he swore were footsteps in the undergrowth. His acute sense of hearing was suddenly a curse, as it allowed his imagination to take control and envision sounds that might not actually be there.

He unintentionally brushed against Keith as he edged away from the suspicious group of bushes. “You, uh, you think your group is out here?”

Keith halted in his tracks to lift his nose into the air. “Can’t smell any of them.”

“What about _hearing_ them?” Lance cringed at the depths of the forest. Observing the trees and green life, he could only think about how many hiding spots the woods provided. How easily it would be for one of stealth to take cover among the plants and wait for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

Keith paused again. “Are you frightened?”

 _Shit._ Lance swung his gaze back, searching Keith’s face for any signs of offence. Although he liked Keith, it was hard to shake the prejudices against the Galra ingrained in him at a young age off.

Before Lance could explain himself, Keith continued, “You shouldn’t be. The Galra that traveled with me are young, and inexperienced, and mostly dumb. If you were able to outsmart human guards, I’ve no doubt you could handle some Galra on your own.”

Lance’s cheeks became stained with color, and he hated himself for it. Hated himself for letting Keith’s monotone words affect him in such a way.

“Besides,” Keith added, turning away with a flick of his tail, “if the older Galra were out here and wished harm against you, you’d be dead by now.”

Lance gaped after him. One second he was getting graciously complimented, the next told something as horrid as _that._

“Gee, _thanks_. That makes me feel _so_ much better.”

“Good. It was intended to be reassuring.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh, although he knew Keith wasn’t joking. He hurried once more to catch up. No matter what Keith thought of him, he wasn’t eager to square off against any Galra any time soon.

He didn’t keep track of the time passing while they wandered around in the woods, Keith seemingly knowing the direction he was heading in. All Lance did was keep his mind off what could be lurking just out of sight, and the haunting forest sounds that followed the pair. He scoffed at himself, wondering what had happened to the brash Elf enthusiastic to explore the dark forest for sights of the Galra.

When Keith straightened ahead of him, he snapped out of his thoughts and into the present. Every muscle in Keith’s body was tight and alert, his ears twitching furiously.

“What is it?” Lance hesitantly whispered, not even sure he wanted to know the answer. But Keith turned to him with a deadly calm, settling his nerves.

“Take a look,” Keith said, parting the overgrowth with his tail. Lance crept up to his side, not sure of what he would see in front of them.

Then he blinked. An abandoned campsite lay before them, occupying most of the clearing. Although one could hardly call it a proper campsite, as other than the burnt remains of sticks gathered together to create a fire and a couple of rocks dragged into the clearing to sit upon, there seemed to be little else.

“You think your group was here?” Lance answered his own question by inhaling a breath. The stench of Galra engulfed the air, the smell musty and reeking of sweat and blood.

“I was here not long ago,” Keith said, stepping forward into the campsite. Lance lingered around the edges of the clearing, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Even if the campsite appeared deserted, every single one of his instincts screamed at him to avoid the area stinking of Galra.

“Will they be returning soon?” Lance tried to keep the squeak out of his voice. Keith paced around the vacant campsite, brushing aside some of the ashy remains of the fire with his tail.

“We never return to a previously inhabited campsite. Not wise to remain in one spot.”

That was, at least, a relief to hear. Lance was dying to ask why Keith had been apart from his group, and where they might be now, but he didn’t know how many nerves those questions would touch. He gulped and braved into the clearing.

“Their stench still lingers. Must have left this morning,” Keith mumbled to himself. Lance couldn’t help but wonder if Keith was purposely facing away from him.

“Maybe they’re out there, looking for you, right now,” Lance suggested.

“If they had wanted to find me, they would have already,” Keith said, with a slight edge to his tone.

He stared at the barren campsite, at the grass that had already settled over any footprints that might have been left behind. Then he looked to the distance, to whatever villages and cities lay beyond the forest, and said, “They’ve more than likely already moved on.”

Lance himself actually felt slightly crestfallen at Keith’s words. He shifted his weight again, his hands fidgeting at his side. He never struggled to share and express his emotions before, but even he was at a loss for words. Helping Hunk with his nagging anxieties was one thing, but this...

“I’m really sorry,” he blurted, for lack of anything else to say. “They – I’m sure your group misses you.”

When Keith finally faced him again after a moment of silently staring at the remains of the fire, his expression was neutral. Tamed. It worried Lance more than it ought to.

“I told you. Don’t waste your time with pointless pity.”

Lance just frowned. He prided himself on being perceptive of other’s emotions; he could tell when one was holding grief back with a stern expression. Even as Keith set his jaw tightly, Lance wondered just how much misery he was concealing.

Maybe Keith really didn’t care about his former companions – had he not seemed indifferent about the prospect of being reunited with them earlier? Keith might just be concerned about his own safety. Or maybe he truly was feeling rejected and abandoned by the closest thing he had to a family.

Lance tipped his head back to look at the sky, the sun gradually slipping down to the horizon. By the time he managed his way through the labyrinth of trees to the tavern, it would be dark outside.

A wiser Elf might abandon Keith, would leave the Galra behind and wash their hands of the entire matter.  That’s what he _should_ do. But whether he _could_ do that or not... Lance already knew the answer.

“It’ll be dark outside, soon. Do you want to come back to the tavern with me?”

Keith whipped his head around. Lance hastily added, “I mean, if you have nowhere else to go-“

“You _want_ me to stay there for another night?”

Lance couldn’t help but smile at the wide eyed expression on Keith’s face. “If you want to stay, that is. Might be one of the few places that’ll take you in.”

Keith just shook his head in bewilderment. He cast a look to the side, his tail tip twitching in irritation. Between his clenched teeth, he said, “I don’t understand. My staying at your home only puts you in further danger. Why would you even _want_ me to stay?”

Both of them knew the risks – both of them knew just how foolish it would be. Not even just from Hunk, who would shoot himself through the roof when he discovered Keith still in the tavern, but from the threat of just one curious human happening upon Lance’s room. No matter how tiny that risk, it was a risk nonetheless.

But Lance, of all people, knew exactly what it was like to be unwanted, and not to have a place to call home.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Lance smiled.

Keith gave him another wide eyed stare, then made a sound similar to a scoff. He shook his head again. “I will never understand you, Elf.”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, before shooting another glance at the sky. “That makes two of us. I'm gonna head back to the tavern before night hits.”

He was more than eager to leave the clearing and the rotten stench of Galra soldiers behind. Lance stepped over the overgrowth, and he never thought he’d be relieved to be staring down the vastness of the woods.

Behind him, Keith swept his gaze over the campsite one last time. Whether it was out of loathing or longing, Lance couldn’t quite determine. But Keith eventually returned his stare to Lance, and he began to hate himself for how much those yellow eyes made him squirm underneath their gaze.

Keith crossed across the campsite and joined him. Lance temporarily pondered if he should tease him for his embarrassment, for how Keith huffed and looked away as he passed Lance and entered the woods.

But in all honesty, Lance only found feelings of relief. He stole a moment to convince himself that it was simply because Keith would be safer hiding in the tavern than wandering around Altea, and no other reason.

And yet he couldn’t deny the leaping of his heart when Keith stalked into the forest, not sparing the campsite that once hosted his previous companions a second glance.

\--

True to Lance’s earlier predictions, the sky began to bleed black by the time they finally spotted the tavern’s candlelight through the trees. While Lance ushered Keith through the back door, the stars were beginning to peek into view.

Since the night was just getting started, very few customers were flocking to the front doors of the tavern. As he shielded Keith from view while they hurried upstairs, Lance caught a glimpse of the taproom, and Hunk positioned behind the bar. He sent up a small prayer of thanks that he could prolong the explanation Hunk would no doubt demand once he noticed Keith.

He ordered Keith to stay hidden in his room and sneaked back downstairs. When he spotted the group of travelers from the previous night returning to quench their thirsts, he groaned. Lance would love nothing more than to perch himself nearby their table to listen to their gossip and tales of their adventures, but there was a hungry Galra waiting up in his bedroom.

He forced his feet to drag him into the kitchen. Only one other worker, a woman who cleaned the tables, spotted him, but all of the employees knew the Elf that accompanied the Dwarven bartender. He waited until the woman left before swiping an empty bowl and filling it with a portion of the stew intended for the customers.

Technically, he _shouldn’t_ be taking the food, but he knew the owner of the tavern wouldn’t notice a little bit of stew missing. Even if he did, he wouldn’t suspect the Elf that kept to himself upstairs, and would most likely place the blame upon someone else.

Lance couldn’t resist a tiny smirk to himself as he easily navigated across the taproom, waving at a few familiar customers to avoid an air of suspicion. If Hunk managed to spot him darting across the room, he was powerless to say anything while on his shift.

Lance never had a real reason for sneaking about the tavern before, but if it was _this_ effortless, perhaps smuggling Keith into his room would not be such a difficult task after all. Indeed, his footsteps became light and optimistic as he escaped upstairs.

“Alright, I have a surprise for you I think you’ll like,” Lance announced upon re entering his room. Keith’s ears pricked up, and he slipped off the worn bed to sit in front of Lance on the floor.

“Here,” Lance said, handing over the bowl. His own stomach was grumbling, knocking against his ribs for food, but he could eat later. Keith uncomfortably held the bowl in his clumsy hands, blinking at the contents inside.

“Go on, it’s safe to eat,” Lance promised. Keith awkwardly lifted the wooden spoon, his too-large hands fumbling to hold it correctly. Lance pursed his lips to prevent himself from laughing as Keith ineptly attempted to scoop up some stew.

One snicker escaped him as Keith accidentally spilled some of the stew and snarled in frustration. To ask if Keith had ever used a spoon or bowl before was pointless.

“Do you want some help?” His question was met with an indignant scowl. Keith flattened his ears against his black hair, but didn’t protest when Lance scooted closer to him.

“C’mere.” Lance reached out and placed his palm on top of Keith’s. He moved Keith’s larger hand to show him how to properly use the wooden spoon.

“It’d be much easier to use your hands,” Keith grumbled.

“No offence, dude, but you do _not_ want your hands touching your food.” After the past two days of traveling throughout the forest, he noticed a thin layer of dirt clinging to Keith’s fur. While he leaned back, he mused about the idea of fetching Keith a proper bath once the tavern cleared out.

 Keith finally managed to scoop some stew into his mouth, and immediately his yellow eyes lit up. His entire body seemed to perk up. His tail began to waggle as he devoured spoonful after spoonful, as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

 “Uhh, maybe slow down a little there. You don’t want to be hurling up your guts later,” Lance gently suggested. Keith paused mid chew, his cheeks expanded with food. Lance stifled another laugh at the silly sight.

“Just don’t make too much noise, okay?”  Lance climbed to his feet. Keith cleaned the bowl while Lance opened one of the drawers of his dresser, containing the few scrapes of clothing he owned. He rummaged through them, trying to find one that might fit the slightly shorter Keith.

“Hold out your arms for a sec,” Lance said a moment later. Keith obeyed with a confused expression, and Lance held up a red tunic to his chin. _Good enough_ , he decided with a nod.

“Here. This might be a bit big, but it’ll be cleaner than what you’re wearing.” Lance handed it over to Keith. Although he wrinkled his nose at the foreign clothing, he reluctantly peeled his own shirt off to pull on the red tunic. Lance averted his gaze as Keith wiggled into the new clothing.

“This is hardly more comfortable,” Keith complained, tugging on the collar, stiff from lying at the bottom of the drawer. At least it fit, and red suited him quite well, if Lance was being honest.

Lance helplessly shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the best I got.”

Downstairs, a loud crash rumbled – most likely a drunken customer tripping over themselves or knocking a chair over. Keith’s fur bristled and hints of a loud growl appeared on his lips.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just people fooling around downstairs,” Lance reassured him with a pat on the shoulder. Keith looked disdained as he flattened his fur.

“You Alteans are so damn rowdy and noisy.”

“Better get used to it, buddy. They’ll be here all night.” Lance shrugged again and scooted over to his nightstand to grab the book resting on top. If he was going to be stuck in his room all night guarding Keith, he might as well pass the time somehow.

Lance crossed his legs and opened the cover. A moment into reading, he was suddenly very aware of a presence lingering over his shoulder. Keith peered in deep intrigue at what was in Lance’s hands.

He already had a good guess as to what the answer was, but he asked the question regardless. “Ever seen a book before?”

Keith shook his head. His yellow eyes widen when Lance turned the page, revealing the strings of words on the paper. He leaned heavily over Lance’s shoulder to examine them up close.

“Then I guess you don’t know how to read?”

Keith jerked his gaze back up. “I suppose that’s something to be ashamed of?”

“No, not at all. The only reason I can read is because of my tutors in the Elven Kingdom,” Lance said, that bittersweet pain returning to his heart. Due to his status of a noble, Lance had had to be tutored and educated in order to inherit his father’s estate one day. Of course, that ended up all for naught the night Lance fled his home.

“So, not every Altean can read,” Keith slowly said.

“No, a lot of humans around here are illiterate,” Lance said, hoping to make him feel better. He had been the one to teach Hunk how to read, reciting his daily lessons to his friend, but he figured that was a fact Keith would be better off not knowing.

Another crash rang out downstairs, and Keith jumped again, a surprised growl rumbling in his throat. Lance shifted the novel to one hand and scratched behind Keith’s torn ear, in the spot he had picked up that Keith liked.

“Want me to read?” Lance offered. When Keith raised both of his eyebrows, he added, “Might be a good distraction from all the noise downstairs.”

Keith nodded and stretched his limbs. He rolled off Lance’s shoulder and sprawled out on the floor, resting his chin and arms on Lance’s leg like a lazy house cat. The sudden intimate movement caught Lance off guard.

“Man, you really _are_ like a big kitten, aren’t you?” Lance joked. Keith rolled his eyes and huffed, but the teasing didn’t dissuade him from nestling closer. Lance entangled his fingers in Keith’s hair and scratched his ear, earning a blissful purr from him.

He still couldn’t quite comprehend the situation he had somehow landed himself in – a Galra lounging in his lap, allowing him to pet him like a house cat. Stars above, Hunk really _was_ going to flip his lid tomorrow, and Lance was going to have to find a way to convince Hunk to not report Keith to the guards.

But for now... for now, this was fine. Pleasant, even.

He continued scratching Keith’s ears, the Galra’s loud purrs drowning out the noise from the taproom, and turned the page to begin reading.

\--

“So, let me get this straight, because I’m not _quite_ sure I follow.”

Lance clamped his lips tightly, knowing it was better to let his friend get his paranoia out of his system. Hunk was pacing back and forth in front of him, clasping his hands together, probably in an effort to keep himself from strangling Lance out of frustration.

“You actually did the _right_ thing and dragged that Galra out to the forest to return him to where he belongs.”

“He has a name, Hunk,” Lance reminded him. He was busying his hands with cleaning the bowl Keith previously used the last night.

“But his group had already moved on. So, instead of doing the _smart_ thing and leaving the bloodthirsty Galra out there for someone else to deal with, you brought him back here, and now he’s in your room again,” Hunk continued as if Lance hadn’t spoken at all. He spun around to face his friend again.

“Did I miss anything? Please tell me if so, I’d _hate_ to leave any details out,” he said, his voice dripping in utter sarcasm. Occasionally Lance despised his friend’s knack for being cynical.

“Smart ass,” Lance muttered under his breath. Hunk’s face grew red as he struggled to leash his temper.

“Oh, _I’m_ the smart ass here? _I’m_ the one being ridiculous?”

“I told you that you could stay out of this, didn’t I?” Lance raised an eyebrow at his friend. Hunk leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms.

“What, I’m supposed to just _ignore_ the Galra, which I will remind you again are _illegal_ to even be here, living in the room next to mine?”

“Look, Hunk, what do you want me to say?” Lance threw his hands up, dropping the bowl and spoon into the pail of water nestled between his ankles.

“I _know_ the Galra are illegal here, okay? I _get_ that. But Keith had nowhere else to go, I couldn’t just leave him for someone else to find and kill him.”

“Lance, you literally just met him the day before last. Why do you even _care?_ ” Hunk demanded. Lance forced his hackles to lie flat; this was Hunk, his best friend. If he could spill his guts out to Keith, surely he could express his emotions to his best friend of many years?

“Because I know what it’s like to be unwanted and not have a home,” Lance said, his tone solemn.

Hunk groaned and dragged his hand down his face, but Lance could see that he was beginning to win his friend over. After all, Hunk had been there the night Lance had fled his family’s home, and he’d been witness to a lot of the events that led to Lance abandoning his family.

“You’re utterly insane, you know that? I’ve known you _how_ many years now, and I’ll never understand you.”

“I know,” Lance softly replied. He knew to anyone else – anyone who was smarter than him – his reasoning must sound unwise. Foolish, even.

”Alright,” Hunk sighed. “If you’re truly committed to this crazy, _crazy_ plan, that Galra has to stay in your room at night. If any of the customers see him, it’ll create hysteria.”

Lance nodded and lifted the bowl out of the bucket to dry. “I know, I know.”

“But do you think he’ll actually be alright with staying put in one room all the time?” Hunk, to his credit, didn’t sound entirely accusatory.

Lance opened his mouth to answer, but footsteps near the door of the kitchen interrupted him. He fully expected the owner of the tavern, in search of some poor employee to snap at. He dropped the bowl back into the pail and sent water sloshing as Keith stuck his head into the door frame.

Upon seeing Keith, Hunk straightened, his fists clenched tightly at his side. Lance clumsily scrambled over the bucket of water.

“Keith! What the hell are you doing downstairs?” Lance yanked Keith into the kitchen and scanned the taproom outside. But the tavern seemed vacant, so Lance slammed the door closed behind him.

“The tavern was empty, so it was safe to come downstairs,” Keith announced as if he were stating the sky was blue. Lance shot him a stern look of disapproval.

“I guess that answers _my_ question,” Hunk mumbled half to himself, half to them. Lance also gave him a glare before looking back at Keith, forcing his own heart to still.

“Okay, from now on, if you want to come downstairs, you have to ask me first, alright?”

“Whoa whoa _whoa_ , I never said he could go anywhere else in here.” Hunk waved his hand. Keith sneered at him, and Lance registered the urge to roll his eyes back into his skull.

“And who declared you in charge of me, _Dwarf?_ ” Keith taunted, clearly baiting Hunk, who noticeably bristled. Lance slammed a hand on Keith’s shoulder when he moved to take a step closer to Hunk.

“Would it kill you two to get along for once?” Lance groaned, but went utterly ignored.

“Tell your _Dwarven_ friend, then, to hold his tongue,” Keith snapped as harshly as he dared.

“Oh, that is utterly _rich_ coming from a Galra whose called me nothing but _filthy_ since he arrived here.”

“And are you any different?” Keith asked, setting his jaw. “Your hatred for me stems from my being a Galra, and no other reason.”

Hunk swelled with fury. “I don’t like you because you’re a _rude,_ inconsiderate-“

“Holy shit _please_ shut up,” Lance finally snapped. Both Galra and Dwarf turned to him, and Lance swore he was about five seconds away from strangling the pair of them.

“If Keith is going to stay here, _you_ are going to have to attempt to get along and stop scoring for fights,” Lance ordered, giving Hunk a pointed glare, who just shook his head in disbelief and perhaps a tiny amount of unwillingness before walking away from the entire ordeal. Keith smirked to himself as Hunk left, until Lance pointed a stern finger at him.

“And _you_ are going to treat Hunk with respect. If I hear _one_ more Dwarf comment out of you, I’ll toss you outside.”

 Keith exhaled in frustration, but reluctantly settled himself down. Lance didn’t even have to turn his head to know Hunk was now the one smirking.

“That, I would love to see,” Hunk mumbled just barely loud enough for them – more specifically, Keith – to hear. A faint growl rumbled in Keith’s throat, but Lance was too fed up to scold Hunk again. It’d only fall upon deaf ears, anyways.

“Anyways, you oughta keep that Gal- keep _him_ in your room while I’m gone,” Hunk corrected himself after a warning look. “Can’t guarantee that nobody won’t be dropping by before night.”

“Right, right. Going to the market?” Lance asked. He already knew the answer, but the change of subject was healing some of the previous tension in the air. Keith had been observing the kitchen, drinking in the details, when his ears pricked up.

“Market?” Keith asked when Hunk nodded. It was far too easy, Lance reflected, to forget how new and foreign _everything_ in Altea was to his new friend.

“It’s a place where merchants sell all kinds of stuff,” Lance explained, tossing the bowl he’d cleaned into its original place. He wondered if the Galra had a dissimilar version of a marketplace. Perhaps one day he should sit Keith down and bombard him with questions of the lesser dark places of the Galra kingdom – if there were any.

“I didn’t think it was possible to make it sound even more boring than it already is,” Hunk snarked from across the room. Lance responded by sticking his tongue out.

But, to Lance’s mild surprise, Keith’s eyes lit up curiously. Did he even know what half the words Lance had used meant? For a split second, Lance was about to suggest they tag along with Hunk, to irk his friend, but-

“Maybe I’ll show you sometime. At night,” Lance offered. Of course, Hunk didn’t bother to keep his snide comment to himself.

“Oh yes, dragging a Galra around the village at night sounds like a _marvelous_ idea.”

“What did I just say about being mean?” Lance crossed his arms. Then his gaze lingered on Hunk fetching his coat from the nearest closet to combat the morning chill. Everything began to click into place as Lance shifted his gaze over to the intrigued Keith.

“Lance. I do _not_ like that face.”

“Face?” Keith echoed, leaning forward to peer closer at Lance. Placing a hand upon his chin, Lance’s lips split into a devious grin.

“Whenever he has that shit eating grin, something incredibly stupid is going to come out of his mouth,” Hunk groaned, all too accustomed to the crazy schemes of his friend.

But Lance dismissed his friend with a wave of a hand and eyed the red tunic Keith wore. If his clothes fit Keith perfectly, then he had no doubt this new plan would work flawlessly. Keith innocently blinked, and Lance widened his grin.

“I just might have an idea.”

A large handful of minutes later, Hunk was presented with possibly the dumbest idea ever – and given that it was of Lance’s creation, that was saying a _lot_. Of course, Lance proudly displayed the Galra, who was covered head to toe in one of Lance’s old cloaks.

Hunk was half tempted to lose his temper again, but lacked the conviction. Instead he shook his head and said, “I’m not going to even justify that with a reaction.”

“What! This is a good idea! You can’t even see his ears or tail!” Lance patted Keith’s head to emphasize his point.

Keith sneezed at the cloak’s scratchy material and fidgeted under the layers stacked upon him. “Why do Alteans wear so many clothes?”

“Not all of us were born with fur,” Lance pointed out, and Keith grumbled in response.

Of course, Keith had made the process of dressing him anything but effortless. As soon as Lance pulled the cloak out, Keith forced him to chase him around the room in circles for a good portion of time before complying. And he had groused and whined while Lance forced him into an old worn pair of boots. _And_ he had shredded two pairs of gloves, albeit on accident, with his razor sharp claws.

“You wanted to see the market, right?” Lance nudged him.

Keith gave it a moment’s thought. “I am most curious to see what this... market, is.”

“See?” Lance shot a pointed look over his shoulder to Hunk, who was pretending the other two in the room didn’t exist.

“Well, the only way you’re getting in there is if we disguise you as a regular Altean.”

“I’m sorry, _who_ was making a big stink about how risky it was to hide a Galra in his room?” Hunk finally piped up.

“You were, for starters. And look at him! You can’t even tell he’s a Galra!” Lance gestured at Keith with both hands.

Hunk squinted. Admittedly, the clothes _did_ cover up all of the trademark Galra features. If he kept the cloak’s faded blue hood down, then perhaps...

Hunk banished the thoughts from his head. “I’m not walking with either of you.”

“Come on, it’s foolproof!” Lance protested as his friend walked away. “It won’t be too busy at this hour, and we’ll leave before the major crowds go!”

“Not listening,” Hunk said, waving a hand in farewell. Lance noisily huffed as Hunk left the kitchen, then turned back to his friend.

“You wanna go, right, Keith? I promise you, nobody’s gonna notice you.”

Although he couldn’t make out Keith’s expression under the hood, Lance could tell he was looking down at himself, covered in foreign clothes. Sure, he wanted to keep Keith as safe as possible, but... the idea of locking him up in a room all day every day, even for his own safety, disgusted him. If there was any way he could help Keith experience as normal a life as possible, he was willing to do it.

“I believe the disguise will work quite well,” Keith said a moment later. The grin upon Lance’s face expanded in size.

“You see! _Someone_ gets it! C’mon,” he said, yanking Keith by the arm and dragging him after him. A giddy flutter overtook his heart – he couldn’t even remember the last time he was so excited to experience the market.

“Just stay close to me, and I bet you’ll have a great time!”

“Interesting,” Keith said, pushing the hood up the slightest amount. Lance winced at the hints of purple fur poking out.

“Maybe we should keep this down,” he said, adjusting the hood to its original position. Keith sighed in frustration, but didn’t protest otherwise.

Not that it was a trouble anymore, but the taproom was void of customers. The rising sun beckoned the workers to leave the comforts of their beds to strike out and begin the day’s hard work. It wouldn’t be until night when the moon whispered for the exhausted workers to trek over to the tavern to quench their thirsts.

Keith seemed on edge as Lance pulled him outside – not to the back of the tavern to the green cover of the forest, but the front entrance. Lance gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze and fell into the ordinary walking pace along the dirt road that lead to the market place, further up the village.

He spotted Hunk yards up ahead, but his friend only scowled upon catching each other’s eyes and turned away. Lance rolled his eyes. _Whatever._ If his friend insisted on being a stick in the mud, Lance cared little if they traversed to the market separately.

“I smell people,” Keith whispered. Lance imagined his large ears lying flat against his silky black hair under the cloak’s hood.

“I know, there will be some in the market. Just don’t panic, alright?” Lance said soothingly, his eyes on the road ahead. He didn’t want to fling too much onto Keith’s poor shoulders at one time.

“We’ll take it nice and slow, and if you’re too uncomfortable, I can take you back-“

“I’m not frightened. I’ve been around groups of Alteans before.”

“Wait, what?” Lance asked out of genuine surprise. He peeled his eyes off the muddy road and looked over his shoulder.

Keith awkwardly coughed. “I’ve... observed them from a distance, that is. Part of our training was to be able to enter and leave villages without being detected.”

 Lance blinked. Somehow, he found himself understanding the Galra less and less the more Keith told him.

“Okay. Well, still, if it’s too much, let me know, alright? And don’t growl or hiss at people. Alteans don’t do that.”

Keith grunted in response, perhaps falling silent due to the other villagers on the path around them. Very few occupied the same road, a fair number of them pulling wheelbarrows full of wares or meat to be traded at the market.

Lance held his breath as a few villagers turned their heads to peer closer at him and Keith. More than likely inquisitiveness brought on by the peculiar figure behind Lance, concealed from head to toe. Other than a few puzzled blinks, the villagers gave him no second thoughts.

“See? We’re fine,” Lance whispered, wondering if Keith had also been holding his breath. 

“I smell _a lot_ of people,” Keith remarked, sounding awed.

“Check it out for yourself,” Lance said, peeling back his hood just enough to give him a better view of what lied before the edge of the dirt path.

If Lance was honest, the market was scarcely anything to fuss over. Given it was such a minuscule village on the lower side of wealth, the market could hardly boast any impressive or eye catching wares. The marketplaces in Lance’s homeland of the Elven kingdom, even the markets in the large mortal cities, were certainly flashier.

Most of the tiny booths and shops hosted simple meats, bags containing grains and rice. Any stalls that displayed clothes were simple tunics and shirts spun from wool. The air reeked of the smell of freshly caught fish and butchered livestock, nearly as potent as the noise coming from the scores of villagers inside. Smoke billowed into the air from fires deep within the market.

Hardly impressive, indeed. Lance had quickly tired of touring the place when he and Hunk first arrived in the tiny village. And yet when he peered closer at his friend, Keith’s widened eyes sparkled as if he had stepped into an oasis.

“You want to go inside?” Lance asked, just to be sure. Keith breathlessly nodded.

“Alright. Stay close to me,” he warned, shoving Keith’s hood back down. Without so much as a hint of a complaint, Keith followed him into the marketplace.

The main path of the marketplace was narrow, and at the end of it laid a huge fountain where village children often gathered to play. Lance had seen this sight dozens of times before, usually when trailing behind Hunk on routinely chores. None of the stalls surprised him, nor did the merchants and butchers eagerly scoping the crowd for a new buyer.

Even with the cloak shielding Keith from view, Lance could tell he was gawking at every nook and cranny of the market. He didn’t grow as flustered at the level of noise as the previous night.

“Remember, stay close to me,” Lance whispered, feeling the warning was necessary to repeat. One particular vendor began cooking something that smelled delicious to Lance’s nose. Among the array of scents of fresh blood and sweaty livestock, Lance could detect hints of spices – rare to this marketplace.

“Hey Keith, check it out. Smells like they-“

He craned his neck, and the cloaked figure behind him had vanished into thin air.

By the stars above, how many times was he going to repeat this scenario again? Immediately Lance whipped his head around, his eyes searching the crowd of faces for the hood of a cloak. A couple of cranky villagers snapped at him for abruptly stopping in the middle of the path, but Lance couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t hear anything above the roar of his own blood.

_I’m going to goddamn kill him._

Lance took off, ignoring grumbles of people he accidentally brushed up against or bumped into. Oh, by the merciful gods above, he hoped he didn’t run into Hunk before locating Keith. His friend would never let him hear the end of it.

He opened his mouth to call for his friend, a risky move in a crowded marketplace, but it wasn’t necessary. His eyes rested among a cloaked figure approaching a stall on the left side of the market.

His heart resumed beating again. Lance rushed up to the stall, resisting the urge to smack Keith over the head. He grabbed him by the shoulder with a little more force than required.

“ _Keith_ , oh my god, _how_ many times do I have to tell you, you _cannot_ run off like that.”

Of course, Keith gave no indication he had heard him. Lance sighed, long and heavy. As much as it burned his gut to admit it, perhaps Hunk had been right – bringing the nosy Keith to the marketplace swarming with new sights was not the wisest of plans.

“There’s so much fish,” Keith sucked in a deep breath. Newly caught cod were on display in the booth, prepared to be purchased and brought home to salt and preserve.

Lance tried not to let the guilt and pity for Keith pang his heart. This was probably more food than Keith had seen all at once during his life. The balding man behind the stall began to eye the strange pair up.

Without warning, Keith suddenly reached in and snatched a slippery fish up. The stall owner jerked his entire body around.

“No, no, Keith! Put that back!” Lance screeched, trying to wretch the cod free from his firm grip. Even as he set the mangled fish down, Lance knew Keith was staring longingly at it. He offered the stall owner a sheepish grin.

“Um, how much for one fish?”

The stall owner held up three fingers. Lance fished his hand into the pouch of money he attached to his belt after dressing Keith. He earned himself money every now and then, when he had nothing better to do than work some odd jobs around the village. Usually when Hunk grew tired of his slothfulness and kicked him out of the tavern for the day.

Lance paid the price of three copper coins, and the balding man stopped hovering protectively over his bundle of cods. Using two delicate fingers to pick up the squished cod, Lance cringed and handed it back to Keith.

“Wait,” the stall owner said, reaching back behind his booth. “Let me get you something to wrap it-“

Keith interrupted him by bringing the raw fish to his mouth. A shudder of disgust ran down Lance’s spine at the sounds of fish flesh being torn greedily from bone. The stall owner stared blankly.

“Stop that!” Lance hissed between his teeth and lowered Keith’s hand. Before the balding man could say another word, Lance lugged Keith back into the swarm of villagers, hoping to blend in with the crowd.

“What did I _just_ say about not doing Galra things, Keith? You can’t just eat a raw fish in front of people!”

Lance clenched a fist when he heard more crunching behind him. Caving in with a heavy sigh, Lance simply stood and did his best to guard Keith from view as he devoured the fish whole. He licked the bones of the fish clean for any last scrapes of flesh.

“Why don’t you eat raw fish?” Keith finally asked after finishing his meal.

“Well, for one, it’s pretty gross,” Lance said, wincing at the bloody cod remains on the gloves Keith wore. “We cook them over a fire before we eat them.”

Keith discarded the bone and shook his head. “Alteans are very, very strange.”

“And _Galra_ are even stranger,” Lance whispered back, lowering his voice when saying that word. “Behave yourself and maybe I’ll buy you more.”

Keith perked up at that promise, and another smell or sound caught his interest. Before he could wander off yet again, Lance got a firm grip on his arm and resolved not to let go again. Not until they were in the privacy of the tavern again, anyways.

“So, what else do you want to see?” Lance asked.

Keith’s wide eyes examined the marketplace and the villagers jostling one another. The unbridled, utter excitement radiating off him was nearly contagious. “ _Everything._ ”

So, with a grin and shared exhilaration, Lance led him back into the arms of the market.

For the next two hours, they wasted time venturing from stall to stall, vendor to vendor. Nearly everything was new to Keith, and almost every ware for sale came with a demand for an explanation. What Lance himself would consider sub par clothes were practically golden treasure in Keith’s eyes, and with the gloves obscuring his claws, he was free to poke and touch them as his heart desired. It was then Lance cursed himself for his lack of money; he vowed later to seek another job to put coins in his pocket, so he could buy better fitting clothes for Keith.

To little surprise, Lance had to keep an extra tight grip on Keith when they passed the butchering stalls, so none of the knives disappeared in gloved hands. He also got a hearty laugh when Keith sneezed after drifting too close to the racks of spices. And oh, the absolute _joy_ in Keith’s eyes upon each new experience, upon witnessing the marvels each vendor offered – Lance chose to believe it was the giddiness of freedom in the market causing his heart to skip beats, and nothing else.

Eventually more villagers poured in as workloads were completed, but Keith expressed little desire to leave the marketplace. So Lance indulged him and remained where they were, Hunk’s worries be damned. He hadn’t spotted his friend again, which was probably a blessing. Lance imagined the slight hints of a smile on Keith’s face would vanish the second Hunk walked in.

And if Lance was honest, he couldn’t even recall the last time he had this much fun. Sure, it was only a second rate market, but... with Keith there, everything was somehow all fresh and new.

“Why do people sell flowers?” Keith frowned at the array of blossoms on display at one stall. Lance paid him only half attention, digging through the remains of his money.

“Some people believe certain types of flowers bring you luck or good fortune,” Lance explained. True to his word, he had purchased another fish for Keith as a reward for behaving himself, which ate up most of his reserve of coins.

“That’s absurd. Flowers are plants with no subconscious thoughts,” Keith said. The two ladies arranging the flowers into bundles gave him funny looks from underneath their straw hats.

“It’s just what people believe,” Lance chuckled, slapping the near empty pouch back onto his belt. Keith abandoned the blossoms and stepped back out into the street, with Lance close on his heels. If he deprived his attention for just one second away from Keith, Lance knew he would get lost in the crowd again.

Keith instead squinted against the sun at a rope hanging just above the heads of the villagers in the market. Attached to either sides of two stalls, the banner contained miniature flags, with imprinted with the same symbol.

“What are those?” Keith pointed. Lance also squinted.

“Those are flags,” Lance answered, but Keith kept staring with deep intrigue. He suddenly hopped off the ground, catching a few glares from those walking by, and snatched one flag off the rope holding it.

“Hey, I said not to take things that aren’t yours,” Lance gently scolded, but leaned in to see what had piqued Keith’s interest. In his gloved hands, Keith stretched the mini flag out to properly display the symbol on it.

“What is _this?_ ” Keith asked. The flag, divided into equal sections of colors of red, blue, green, yellow, and black, contained the outline of a lion’s head, its jaws expanded in a massive roar. All the flags dangling overhead in the breeze displayed a very similar image.

“That’s the royal crest of the king,” Lance explained.

Keith blinked at the image. “A lion?”

“You must’ve seen at least one of them before. They’re as common as cattle,” Lance said. Herds of lions frequently roamed the wilderness of Altea, to the point where they had become the official symbol of the kingdom.

Still, Keith continued to glance between the flag in his hands and the ones overhead. Lance couldn’t quite grasp what was so special about them – compared to everything else the market had to offer, they were just plain old flags.

One of Lance’s long pointed ears perked up upon hearing the familiar plucking of an instrumental string. He faced the direction of the sound, and almost immediately more instruments rose to join the lute. From the fountain, Lance could hear the beginnings of a musical performance.

“C’mon, they’re playing music!” Lance yanked on Keith’s arm. Through the shadows cascading from the cloak’s hood, he faintly made out the outline of Keith’s frown.

“Music? That... that’s the sound you used that night, on the guards, isn’t it?”

That was referring to, naturally, the illusion trick Lance had pulled on the guards that captured Keith. And even with all that he heard learned about the Galra over the course of the last few days, he found his heart sinking. The Galra didn’t even have _music?_

“Yep, exactly,” Lance answered, not even sure where to begin. Explaining music, the beauty, the delicacy of the notes... he might as well describe colors to a blind man.

“I think it’d be better if you heard it for yourself,” Lance said. Keith reluctantly settled for trailing after Lance as the pair cut through the crowd to reach the fountain set at the opposite end of the market.

Positioned on the lip of the market fountain, a group of musicians were performing a song familiar to Lance’s ears. They played a variety of instruments, from a thick drum to a vielle. Lance reached for his shoulder out of instinct, and instantly regretted leaving his lute behind in his room.

In the modest space around the fountain, numerous onlookers gathered around to listen to the performance. A few of the less conscious villagers linked arms to dance, twirling around in neat circles. The ladies lifted the helm of their skirts to bow and waltz with their partners.

Lance found himself tapping his foot in time with the rhythm of the music. Keith crinkled his nose. “What are they doing?”

“It’s called dancing,” Lance replied. He happened to look over the opposite side of the fountain at the right time to catch the eye of a girl around his age, hailing from the nearby villager if her wool dress was any indication. She blinked her long eyelashes, and he risked a wink at her, causing her to look away with an amused smile.

Keith’s chin was practically resting on his shoulder as he leaned forward. “Who is _that._ ”

“Who knows? Never seen her before.” Lance shrugged. He couldn’t help but steal another glance at her, and although her attention was preoccupied by the dancing spectacular, he could tell she was aware of him watching her.

“Maybe I’ll ask her to dance,” Lance mused. For some reason he couldn’t infer, Keith seemed to bristle under his cloak.

Keith’s unseen yellow eyes scrutinized him.“Why?”

“I dunno, I just like to dance. Why are you interrogating me?” Lance asked back, tilting his head. Growling under his breath, Keith continued to glare in the girl’s direction.

An odd separation from his earlier good mood. Lance couldn’t quite decipher what was so offensive about him wanting to share a dance with a village girl. Unless-

Lance blinked. “Do you want me to teach _you_ how to dance?”

Keith whipped his head around. Even with the hood concealing his face, Lance knew his expression was of repulsion. “No.”

“Mm, I think you do,” Lance crooned, placing a hand on his chin. Keith’s shoulder drew tense. “You said you wanted to see everything in Altea, right?”

“This is absolutely absurd, and I’ve no intention of partaking in such a ridiculous activity.”

“Dancing is not _ridiculous_ , Keith,” Lance countered, rolling his eyes. “It’s how we express ourselves. Don’t those people look happy?”

Keith inclined his head. All of the villagers weaving in and out of the dancing lines did indeed have bright white smiles upon their face. Coming here, to the village square, was their one chance to engage in free entertainment provided by the musicians. Even those averse or too shy to dance clambered around to watch and clap their hands in tune with the beat.

“Come on,” Lance held out an offering hand. “You won’t know if you like it, unless you try it.”

Keith groaned, but clasped his hand in return. “The only reason I’m complying is to end your excessive chattering.”

Lance feigned an offended gasp before squeezing his hand in return. Even with the layer of glove over Keith’s hand, the strength and sturdiness of his fingers could be felt. The warmth he was radiating brushed up against Lance.

He had danced with plenty of Elves before, and yet Lance’s heart pounded in his chest as he said, “I’m gonna have to come a little bit closer, okay?”

Keith didn’t protest nor freeze when Lance did so. Nobody in the square paid them any attention, dismissing them as just two other people indulging in the music. Not that Lance was watching – he found himself fixating on the yellow eyes he couldn’t see underneath the cloak hood.

He held their clasped hands out at shoulder length, briefly reminded of the dancing lessons he’d received as a younger Elf still living under his father’s roof. Back then, he’d enjoy them, enjoyed all the cute Elves that were assigned to be his dancing partners, but now he found his heart fluttering at the intimacy.

Ready to draw back at a moment’s notice, he placed his other hand on Keith’s back, near his shoulder blade. Not that he thought Keith would harm him, but he could picture earning a light warning scratch should his gestures be perceived as threatening. Keith’s ears seemed to perk up under the hood, not in displeasure, but rather intrigue. In fact, unless Lance’s eyes were deceiving him, he would’ve claimed Keith even stepped a bit closer.

“And your hand goes here.” Lance moved Keith’s other gloved hand to his shoulder, beginning to absorb the warmth shared between them. Better for him to take the lead, since Keith was inexperienced. Lance returned his hand to Keith’s back and beamed.

“Now what?” Keith asked, and Lance toyed for a moment with the idea of teasing him for sounding much more invested than before.

“Now, we move,” Lance said, and took a slow step – and then another. And another. He slowly eased into the rhythm of the music, guiding their shared embrace over to the circle of dancers who welcomed them into the movement. A soft snarl of surprise escaped Keith’s lips as he lurched to keep up.

“Easy, easy. We’ll go slow,” Lance promised. Hints of Keith’s bristling purple fur poked out into sight. Although Lance wished he could push that stupid hood back, to examine and memorize every detail of Keith’s face, his common sense prevented him from doing so.

Keith’s eyes were glued to their feet moving in rhythm, whether out of embarrassment or a struggle to keep up, Lance couldn’t quite decipher. He quickly scanned the faces of the other dancers, but they were too busy drinking in their own cheer and mirth to notice the Elf and cloaked Galra.

“This is absurd. It’s just.... swaying in place,” Keith sputtered, his feet clumsily knocking into the sides of Lance’s boots. Not that Lance cared.

“Well mister, if you’re gonna stay in Altea, you are gonna have to learn how to loosen up and have _fun_ ,” Lance said with a massive grin.

Perhaps influenced by the influx of partnered dances, the musicians performing slowed their song to a piece more suitable for a waltz. Although they wouldn’t notice, Lance gave them an appreciative smile. The slower beat allowed Keith to gradually adjust to the dancing.

“You don’t have to watch your feet,” Lance chuckled a moment later. Keith snapped his gaze up, his bright yellow eyes just barely visible. He wasn’t smiling but – he was definitely showing much more contentment than he normally would.

Lance steered them into the waltz, and to Keith’s credit, he never stumbled or tread upon his feet after that point. Keith instead bore his yellow gaze directly up into Lance’s face. Although the dance was simple, Lance found his breathing turning uneven.

Keith sucked in a deep breath. “You’re truly committed to my staying here in Altea.”

“Of course I am. I told you, we’re friends.” Lance beamed.

 “Even if I cannot venture freely like your other friends?” Keith wisely lowered the volume of his voice.

“We can figure something out. We did today,” Lance pointed out. Not that he could be dragging a cloaked Keith to the market every day – the risk was too great. Eventually _someone_ would think twice about why someone would wear so many thick layers during the warmer seasons.

But they would figure out some other solution. Lance was willing and devoted to seeing that through.

The waltz built in intensity, and some of the less persistent dancers fell out of the circle, laughing with exhaustion. Lance thought for an instance that Keith might wish to bow out as well, but he only tightened his grip on Lance’s shoulder. Their shared warmth brought a faint blotch of pink to Lance’s cheeks.

“You enjoying this?”

Keith carefully considered his answer. “I can see why some Alteans would be drawn to this... dancing.”

Lance laughed, a breathless, joyful sound. He couldn’t explain why, but being surrounded by one his greatest passions, music, and sharing it with Keith – his heart couldn’t help but leap for joy. He jokingly spun Keith around in his arms, sending his cloak fanning out around him.

But in his moment of glee, he accidentally tugged Keith back a bit rougher than intended. His other hand moved to hold Keith’s back, but Keith staggered over his own feet and bumped right into him. Lance’s entire body froze as they were pressed together in far closer quarters than before. He could feel the warmth radiating off Keith, even under the layers of clothing. Hell, he was practically _embracing_ Keith in his arms.

A few bystanders laughed at the pair’s clumsy display. Lance’s ears burned a bright red. He really, _really_ wished he would drop dead on the spot.

After recovering from a daze, Keith huffed and pushed himself off of Lance, scraping together whatever dignity he could muster. “You’re not nearly as skilled at this as you claim to be.”

Yet it was exactly what Lance needed to hear at the moment. Some of the mortified blushing faded from his face as he forced another laugh. “Sorry, sorry.”

Keith shook himself like a dog in spite of the watchful eyes surrounding them. The attention their little slip up garnered wavered as the music carried on, uninterrupted. Lance good-naturedly tugged Keith’s hood over his eyes, smirking at his soft growl.

“I think that’s enough dancing for one day,” Lance said, his chest feeling light; no doubt from the embarrassment of their klutzy skills at dancing. Keith adjusted his hood and wordlessly tracked after him through the ushering crowd.

Perhaps it was just his paranoia, but he didn’t like the idea of spending too long wandering about under the eye of the market. Not when Keith’s thick layers were uncommon during this season and likely to draw attention.

Then somehow, due to his rotten luck, Lance caught sight of Hunk ahead among the swarm of market people, flooding in now that the hours were ticking by. He turned to avoid Hunk, but his friend noticed him as well. Lance inwardly groaned as Hunk made a direct beeline towards them.

“You actually managed to not get caught by any guards?”

“ _Shhhh_ ,” Lance scolded, wincing at the people nearby that could potentially overhear. Keith’s shoulders tightened upon seeing Hunk. At least he wasn’t alone on that front.

Hunk ignored his warning and crossed his arms. “So, was the stupidly high risk worth it?”

Lance opened his mouth to answer, but then realised the question wasn’t really for him. He inclined a glance at Keith, who steadily stared back at Hunk.

Keith sounded firm when he spoke, “Yes, it was.”

While Hunk frowned at the answer he clearly wasn’t anticipating, Lance crookedly grinned, his heart warming again. Hunk just sighed heavily and waved a dismissive hand at both of them.

“Whatever. I don’t care what crazy schemes you two get up to.”

“I think you’re just jealous we had so much fun,” Lance preened as Hunk passed by both of them, clearly heading towards the tavern. If he heard Lance, he gave no indication of it.

Lance turned to Keith, an authentic curiosity on his face. “You actually did enjoy yourself today, huh?”

Keith crossed his arms across his chest. “I just didn’t want to give him an excuse to brag about how he was right.”

“Keith!” His gasp genuine this time, Lance dug his elbow into Keith’s side. He was dying to peer under that hood, to see if Keith was grinning from ear to ear like Lance was. If Keith’s loose, relaxed posture was any indication, maybe he really wasn’t joking about having a wonderful time.

“Just for that little insult, you’re wearing that every day from now on,” Lance said, indicating to the layers and the boots that Keith despised. His answering snarl had a humorous edge to it, so it didn’t send chills of fear up Lance’s spine.

“You try it, and I will end you.”

Lance laughed. As they started walking in the same direction Hunk headed, he knew he should keep a grip on Keith to keep him on course. After a moment’s consideration, his hand slipped into Keith’s. And after another moment’s consideration from someone else, Keith’s fingers laced around his.

Lance couldn’t doubt at this point that they were getting somewhere – maybe Keith wouldn’t hesitate to call him his friend in return. A chill from the breeze swept through, but Lance hardly noticed. They continued walking hand in hand, and Lance tipped his chin up to observe the early hints of swirling snowflakes beginning to flutter to the ground; an indication that winter was on the horizon.

\--

The winter fall was heavy this year, catching almost everyone by surprise. Rare was the season where snow blanched the landscape of the kingdom otherwise shrouded in sun and fair weather. Usually the winter season brought rains and soggy muddy earth, not powder light snow.

So the cold nights increased in intensity, and the roads engulfed in white lessened travel. Which was heavenly news to Lance’s ears; there were rumors beginning to spread over drinks that the guards were searching for a vigilante and escaped Galra that fled capture before winter, and every time the gossip was brought up Lance felt ill enough to vomit. Hopefully, the snow would decay and brush the rumors and gossip aside like dying leaves.

Lance had seen snow before, but it was still a pleasant surprise when he peered out the door and saw nothing but white outside. The back of the tavern, a tranquil and serene forestry backdrop, beckoned him to step outside. So he wrestled Keith into his old scratchy cloak again, for both a disguise and for warmth, and opened the back door with a dramatic flourish.

Keith’s eyes widened as he gaped at the world now covered in white. He reached one hesitant foot out and set it down in the cold snow, withdrawing it just as quickly with a growl. A near perfect imprint of his foot lay in the snow.

“What _is_ it?”

“It’s called snow,” Lance said, stepping out and spreading his arms to bask in the cool temperature. The rush of a winter’s breeze ruffled through his clothes and hair, an utter refreshing feel compared to the humidity of the tavern.

Keith didn’t follow suit just yet, crouching down in the tavern’s door frame. He poked the snow with one finger and hopped back like a skittish cat. Scooping up some of it in his hand, he gave it a reproachful sniff and licked the ball of snow, baring his teeth at the cold.

“How did you live for this long if you try to eat everything you lay eyes on?” Lance asked with a cocked eyebrow.

 Keith ignored him and took another step out into the open, a surprised chirp escaping his lips when his foot sank into the thin layer of snow. Every step he took was wary, each accompanied with a little shake of his foot to rid itself of the snow clinging to it. Lance covered his mouth so Keith wouldn’t notice him laughing under his breath.

“It’s cool to the touch,” Keith observed. He had absolutely refused to wear boots again, exposing his long fangs when Lance suggested, so he was venturing outside bare foot. Not that anyone would be loitering about the opposite end of the tavern anyways, especially not after the threat of Galra lurking in the forest.

“And this just... falls from the sky?” Keith asked. As if to answer him, tiny specks of snow began to flutter down onto his ears and head. Keith snarled and shook himself furiously, whipping his gaze around for the culprit.

“It’s rare, but it does happen. Usually it just rains during winter,” Lance said, brushing the snowflakes off of Keith’s hair. The flurries that accompanied harsh winters had not yet wrecked havoc onto Altea. Instead, the snowfall was light, calm, serene in a sense.

Keith blinked and jerked his head back whenever a cold snowflake landed on his face or ears. Lance laughed and began wandering around the back, stepping his feet in such a tentative way that it left no footsteps behind. A special trait only an Elf could perform.

“It must be magic,” Keith remarked.

“Some people think so. A white winter is so rare some people see it as an omen.”

“Good or bad?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Lance said, kneeling down. He was positive those were the faint markings of tiny talons in the snow. Any normal human eye would most likely skip over the faint outlines in the snow.

“I think the last time it snowed in Altea, I was only six years old,” Lance said. The snow crunched as Keith stepped closer.

“Hunk said it never snowed in the mines he used to live in, so I dumped some snow down the back of his shirt.”

Keith appeared intrigued by the story, even with the mention of Hunk. Lance grinned wickedly over his shoulder. “He dropped kicked me off our front porch for pulling that one.”

“That was back in the Elven kingdom?” Keith asked, and Lance curtly nodded. Not that he blamed Keith for being curious about the elusive Elves, but talking about his homeland... Lance didn’t even know why he brought up that childhood story. If Hunk had been present, Lance would’ve earned a cuff on the head.

Shaking the memories off, Lance checked the marks in the snow again and rose to his feet. He gestured to Keith to step back and said, “Check this out.”

Lance reached into his pocket and pulled lose some of the seeds he had fetched from the kitchen, sending them scattering over the fresh layers of snow. Within a few seconds, the flapping of wings echoed through the forest, and a flock of blue birds descended to the snow.

Feeding the birds that inhabited the forest was one of the few reasons Lance had left the tavern before Keith arrived. Lance beamed at Keith, expecting to see his eyes alit in innocent curiosity. Instead, Keith narrowed in on the birds, a hungry look upon his face. Before Lance could open his mouth, Keith had crouched and pounced onto the feeding flock.

“No! They’re not for eating, Keith!” Lance shrieked. The flock of birds shot into the air, a mess of wings fluttering and feathers flying. One bluebird was trapped under Keith’s hands, squawking and struggling in vain.

“Keith! I said no!” Lance fell to his knees and attempted to pry Keith’s sturdy fingers off the poor bird. Keith grumbled, but lifted his hands, and the bluebird took off like an arrow into the grey sky.

“You provided the perfect distraction for me to catch one.”

Lance sighed, supposing that he couldn’t blame Keith for acting on his natural instincts. “I didn’t bring you out here to eat bluebirds. I wanted you to just... well, look at them, I guess.”

“It is amazing that you Alteans have not starved to death yet.” Keith shook his head in disapproval. Lance rolled his eyes and braced himself on knee to stand up.

“Come on, just watch them, okay? They’re really cute, I promise,” Lance said. Keith sat back on his haunches, not appearing to be in a hunting position. So Lance tossed more seeds out, hoping not all of the birds had fled.

Eventually, some of the group returned, after scoping from the bare branches of the trees for danger. They hopped on their tiny twigs for legs, occasionally shooting guarded looks at Keith. The tip of Keith’s tail twitched, but he made no move to snatch another bird up.

“See? They’re cute, right?” Lance held out a hand as the birds pecked the snow for delicious seeds. One bluebird stepped onto his hand, nestling into his palm for warmth.

Keith frowned at the group of bluebirds. “Not particularly.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Hunk,” Lance muttered, smirking to himself when Keith gave him nothing short of a scathing look. The bluebird huddled in his hand chirped as Lance stroked his head with one finger.

“They seem to like you,” Keith commented as two more birds flew to rest on Lance’s shoulders. The tickling sensation of tiny talons clinging to his tunic made Lance giggle and squirm.

“I think it’s an Elf thing.” He supposed the stereotypes that he had heard from humans about Elves all being nature loving tree huggers weren’t far off. Not in his case, anyways. The flock of bluebirds hopped around his legs, chirping for more seeds.

“Do you want to feed them?” Lance asked as he tossed more seeds onto the snow. Keith snorted in response.

“Come on, hold your hand.” Lance beckoned him closer with a finger. When Keith rose and reluctantly uncurled his claws, Lance placed some seeds into his open palm.

Keith slowly moved his gaze from the seeds in his hand to the birds gathered in the snow. He thrust his hand forward, sending them all scattering. A chuckle escaped Lance before he could restrain himself.

“You’re gonna scare them doing that,” Lance said, and then gently guided Keith’s hand to rest upon the ground. Even out in the wintery outside, Keith’s hands somehow remained warm, while Lance’s fingertips were beginning to flush. Lance blinked, wondering why he was even focusing on this.

 After a moment’s hesitation, some of the braver bluebirds hopped back. Their beady eyes scanned Keith for any signs of aggression, before they finally hopped onto his hand to pick apart the seeds.

“No killing,” Lance warned, though it was hardly necessary. Keith’s fur was flat and relaxed, and he was now watching the birds with enjoyment rather than hungriness.

“I guess they are a little bit cute,” Keith said a moment later. Lance inched away from him and sat down, spreading his legs out. A few more bluebirds used his knees for a roost.

Keith lifted the hand containing the seeds closer to his face to get a closer view of the bluebirds. They didn’t take notice, far more invested in devouring the seeds. He stared unblinking at them until a ball of snow smacked him directly in the cheek.

He cried out, more out of shock than tangible pain, and shook himself like a wet dog. The bluebirds in his hand landed on the ground and watched the bits of snow fly off him. Keith growled and darted his gaze around for the source, but Lance was preoccupied with holding out a finger for a bluebird to perch on.

Keith blinked in suspicion. He turned his head just a touch, so he could see Lance with his peripheral vision. The bluebirds hopped onto his hand again to continue feasting, and for a moment or two, there were no sounds but the light snowfall and naked tree branches shuddering in the winter breeze.

Keith’s ears perked upon detecting a quick movement, but the second ball of snow smashed into tiny pieces upon contact with his face before he could duck. He snarled and faced Lance. Instead of feigning innocence, Lance wickedly grinned, his damp hand help up to expose himself.

Again Keith snarled, although this time with a mischievous edge. He snatched some snow from the ground as Lance scrambled back onto his feet. All around them, the remainder of the bluebird flock took flight and rushed to locate a safe branch to watch from.

Lance burst into heavy laughter as one of Keith’s hastily packed snowballs finally made contact with his torso. Although Keith impulsively attempted to keep up with Lance’s quicker hands, by the time he managed to make one snowball, Lance had already hit him with three.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to throw?” Lance laughed, stepping to the side to effortlessly avoid Keith’s terrible aim. Short lived irritation flashed in Keith’s eyes. He bounded towards Lance, spraying snow everywhere.

“Keith!” Lance squealed as frosty snow sneaked its way into his boots. Keith proceeded to chase him around the clearing of the back tavern, not allowing him a second to gather up a snowball. Giddiness flooded Lance’s chest as he ducked his head to avoid a snowball tossed at him.

The bluebirds on the tree branches whipped their heads back and forth to watch them. Snowballs sailed through the air like arrows, most of the projectiles plopping back onto the ground. Lance’s fingers numbed to the point of actually freezing into icicles, but he hardly noticed.

Out of breath at long last, he fell onto his knees and gathered up one last snowball. He twisted his body to fling it, only to be greeted by a heavier snowball to the face. It exploded into tiny pieces upon contact, knocking him back onto his ass.

After his face recovered from the chilly string, Lance brushed the remaining snow off his face. Even the bluebird’s tweets from the tree branches sounded like jolly laughter. Lance himself was about to join in when another sound made him freeze in place.

Keith was laughing – actually laughing, by the stars. Lance couldn’t even recall the last time he’d seen Keith crack a smile, but here he was, sitting before Lance, snickering at the Elf knocked flat onto his back, snow dampening his clothes.

And his laugh... well, it was a normal laugh. Just like any of the boy Elves Lance had grown up with in his old kingdom. It was joyful, cheerful, and Keith’s eyes crinkling from his wide grin... the cold sting of the snowball instantly melted from Lance’s cheeks.

Lance pulled himself up to his elbows. His ogling must have been apparent, because eventually Keith realized his laughter was the only sound and he stopped.

“What?”

“Are you... are you _laughing?_ ”

Keith’s smile was wiped away in an instant, replaced by his typical scowl. Lance sat up, holding his mouth open in awe.

“Holy shit. I just saw _you,_ of all people, laughing.”

“Can I not express myself in similar ways such as you do?” Keith snapped.

“No, no, laughing is illegal here in Altea. Of _course_ I’m not saying that,” Lance jested, playfully poking Keith with his foot.

“I was just surprised. Didn’t even know you were capable of doing anything but sulking.”

Keith hissed under his breath, but lacked any real anger. He turned his nose up in the air, contemplating for a moment before saying, “You can hardly blame me. You looked utterly ridiculous with all that snow knocking you onto your ass.”

Lance faked a gasp of offence, shortly followed by another rasping laugh. Even his cheeks began to hurt from all the unapologetic chuckling and smiling again. He grinned all the more when there was a faint blush, most likely of embarrassment, on Keith’s cheeks.

When the previously closed back door was forced open through the snow piling up, both of them whipped their heads around. Lance’s heart stopped for a few vital beats until Hunk’s face came into view. He peeked out of the ajar door, until he spotted them, and pushed the door open fully.

“What are you _doing_ out here?”

“Did you run out of people inside to yell at?” Lance quipped, too lazy to even dignify his friend by sitting up. As of late, it seemed that Hunk was discovering dozens of more things to nag Lance over, most of them having to do with Keith.

He glanced over at Keith; any semblance of a good mood was gone now. His purple fur bristled at the mere sight of Hunk.

“I don’t yell – no, I was just wondering where you were, given that it’s the middle of the day,” Hunk retorted, pointing one finger up at the blue sky. Lance made a big show of tilting his head back and looking at the sun he already knew was up above his head.

“Thanks for reminding me, Hunk. Wouldn’t know, otherwise.”

“Why is he outside if it’s day?” Hunk asked, ignoring Lance’s smart ass commentary as always. Hints of Keith’s sharp teeth jutted out from his lips.

Before another round of bickering could occur between the two, Lance held up a hand. “I wanted to show Keith the snow, since nobody would be around the tavern at this hour. So if you’re going to get mad, get mad at me.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. Lance braced himself for the oncoming lecture. “I already told you I don’t care if you get caught. It just seems dumb, if you ask me, to be parading around outside with a Galra.”

 _Nobody asked you._ Lance mulled over whether to say it out loud, then decided it would be easier to just let Hunk rant and leave. At least Keith was wise enough to stay hushed and not provoke a larger fight.

“Okay, _Your Majesty,_ if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take Keith back inside,” Lance patted the Galra in question on the head. The tip of Keith’s tail waggled.

“Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me when you get a cold from tramping around without a jacket,” Hunk loosened an exasperated sigh, loud enough for both of them to hear. He turned around with the intent to disappear back into the tavern, but halted when a snowball hit him directly on the back of his neck.

He let out an undignified yelp as tiny bits of snow trickled down the back of his shirt. Hunk whirled around, his eyes intently searching for the culprit. But Lance gaped at him with just as much genuine shock in his eyes, while Keith quickly hid his hands behind his back.

For a second Lance thought Hunk might scold both of them, but eventually he caved in and stomped away, likely deciding that it wasn’t worth his time. Lance didn’t realize his jaw was slackened until Hunk slammed the door with a solid loud crash. He jerked his gaze to Keith, who now held out a hand recently dampened with snow.

“You jerk!” Lance gasped and shoved one of Keith’s shoulders. Amusement sparked in Keith’s eyes. “He’s going to kill me when we go back inside!”

“Then why not stay outside?” Keith asked, so smoothly Lance pondered if it was intentional.

“Hm. I guess Hunk had a point,” Lance conceded. Not that the back of the tavern was a popular gather place for anyone, not even the poor beggars of the village searching for scraps, but on the off chance someone happened to wander by...

“Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, anyways.” Lance eyed Keith’s fur. Keith didn’t react other than furrowing his brow. Lance lazily groaned and climbed to his feet.

“Will he actually attempt to harm you?” Keith asked, trailing after him. “Because if so, I can-“

“Keith,” Lance cautioned as they re entered the tavern, savoring the warmth compared to the frost outside.

 “You know he was exaggerating. Besides, we’re not gonna let him ruin our good mood, right?”

\--

And just to spite Hunk, Lance’s good mood did indeed carry on for the rest of the day.

Until the sneezing started.

At first he convinced himself he could suppress the sniffles plaguing his body – especially in Hunk’s presence. What burned even more than the full blown cold was the fact that Hunk had been correct.

And of course, as soon as one sneeze slipped out of him, he’d heard nothing but gloating and scathing comments. Lance endured it, if only for the soup Hunk made that he could swear had magical healing properties. One spoonful ceased the endless trembling of his freezing body.

To Lance’s mild surprise, Keith was absolutely astounded by his sneezing and coughing. He planted both of his hands on the edge of Lance’s bed, intently studying him. Every time Lance loudly sneezed, Keith ducked back, his ears flattening against his hair, his broad yellow eyes staring.

 _At least_ someone _was getting enjoyment out of his misery._

“You Alteans are quite fascinating,” Keith said, resting his chin on the mattress.

“What, you Galra don’t have the common cold?” Lance chided, but Keith harmlessly blinked.

“If that’s what you call it, I suppose. Sickness is almost always fatal in the Galra Kingdom.”

Typically, learning something new about the Galra kingdom sent shivers down Lance’s spine, but another loud sneeze split through him, making his head uncomfortably light. He sweated under his layers and blankets, but removing even just one caused him to shake uncontrollably.

“How’s that even possible?” Lance managed to ask a moment later.

“No healers,” Keith replied. He tilted his head. “I’ve seen many soldiers die due to such an illness, but you’re here in bed without a worry.”

“Well, it’s... just a cold,” Lance said, aware of how foolish it must sound to Keith’s ears. His head was too muddled to contemplate the horrid state of the Galra kingdom.

“Just don’t get too close unless you want to catch it, too,” Lance said, gesturing to the nest of blankets he’d built on the floor beside his bed. Normally Lance would allow Keith to take the bed, but it was the only comfortable haven for his currently aching bones.

Keith slunk off the bed onto the bundle of blankets, casting a longing look at the nightstand. The copy of the book Lance had read the night after Keith had been brought into the tavern rested on it. Lance didn’t even know _why_ Keith was so fond of it, why he all but begged Lance to read every night before bed. It was a decent novel at best, compared to the thick books and literature he used to have access to in his homeland’s library.

Lance laid his back flat on his mattress with a soundless groan. “What’s wrong?”

Keith kneaded the bundle of blankets before curled up. He shrugged. “I like to listen to you read out loud.”

“Yeah?” Lance asked, with genuine surprise.

“Your voice is... relaxing. Calming.”

Lance’s flushed cheeks suddenly regained some of their color. He quickly snapped his fingers to snuff the candle casting light from the nightstand, hoping to cover up his moment of weakness. Darkness settled over the small room.

“I’ll read more when there’s only two of everything,” Lance promised, blinking the tears watering in his eyes that blurred his vision. One of his arms slung over the edge of the bed, searching for the spot where Keith liked to be scratched. Once his fingers located Keith’s ears, his purrs filtered out the faint buzzing of noise from downstairs.

A moment later, Keith briefly stopped his purrs to ask, “Will you tell me about the Elven kingdom?”

“Why?” The question came out a little sharper than intended. Lance rubbed the back of Keith’s ear in a steady rhythm, to show he didn’t mean the rude tone.

“I’ve shared plenty of information regarding my own homeland, yet I know little of yours. But what you have said intrigues me.”

Lance supposed he had no real reason to refuse Keith the answers he sought. He relaxed his head back onto the pillow, and Keith resumed purring. He stared at the pitch blackness of the ceiling.

“Okay. Well, the Elven Kingdom’s located far east from here. Still technically a part of Altea. That’s where I was born,” Lance began. His fingers on Keith’s ear felt him nod, more than likely to show he heard him.

“I dunno why it’s called a kingdom, actually. It’s not like we have our own monarchy or anything. Mom used to joke that it was our way of feeling just as important as everyone else,” Lance weakly laughed, trying to cover up his throat tightening.

“I’ve picked up on that. It would seem that you Alteans are not all fond of one another,” Keith pointed out. Lance nodded, even though Keith couldn’t see it.

“Yeah, the Fae and us never really liked each other, and we all hate Dwarves. Guess the two of us are too similar – we’re always competing to see whose better. They really cannot stand us. I've known plenty of Fae who didn't,” Lance's voice trailed off.

“Is the subject too difficult to discuss? I notice you always hesitant when your family is brought up,” Keith said, in an all too casual voice. Evidently, subtlety had not rubbed off on him during his stay in Altea.

“Kind of. I told you that it was less than inviting back there, remember?” Another affirming nod.

“I was born into a really noble family. I guess it’s our version of royalty. So as a son of a noble, I was expected to go and marry some daughter of another rich noble and produce heirs for my family line to continue.”

“And you wished to avoid that?” Keith guessed.

Lance shrugged one shoulder. “Sort of. I didn’t _want_ to, but if it made my mom happy, I would’ve. I lived with my mom, and my siblings. _Hell_ , I was _willing_ to do it, if it meant that the same wouldn’t be expected of my sisters and brothers.”

“Then why run away?” Keith wrinkled his nose. His question wasn’t demanding or prying for personal information – his tone hosted genuine curiosity. Maybe it was Lance’s imagination, but it sounded a bit concerned as well.

There was no harm in telling, he reasoned. Keith was trustworthy, and, well – maybe someone other than Hunk knowing his horrid secret might help ease the weight off his chest. He continued scratching Keith’s torn ear.

“Because of my father.”

Both of Keith’s ears pricked up. Lance kept his gaze on the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the pitch blackness.

“See, he wasn’t an Elf like me and my mom – he was a Fae. Mom said they married as an attempt to reunite their two races. Probably some bullshit reason he conjured up so he could hold some position of power in our kingdom.”

Keith was absolutely still, other than lifting his head off the floor. The purrs rumbling in his throat abruptly cut off.

“So he and mom decided to have kids, and they all looked exactly like my father. None of them inherited mom’s features, so he was pleased, and they were all happy and decided that their family of two boys and two girls was enough. Until _I_ came along.”

He couldn’t muffle his own bitter laugh. “He was so, _so_ pissed that the one kid he never planned to have didn’t have any Fae features. He was even more pissed when I couldn’t do anything my siblings could – I wasn’t as strong or as smart as them. I couldn’t even do the same kind of magic.”

By this point, Keith had pulled himself onto his elbows. Lance could see the yellow glow emitting from his eyes out of the corner of his blurry vision, but he didn’t want to meet the other’s gaze. He was already shamed enough from sharing the story.

“He never got over it. He was so proud of my brothers and sisters; he absolutely loved and cherished every single of them for their individual talents. And I guess they were so desperate for our father’s approval that they didn’t mind turning the other cheek whenever he’d lash out at me.”

“He did _what._ ” It wasn’t a question.

“He never hit me when I was younger. Mom wouldn’t let him. But he’d just screech and yell and curse me. Every night before I’d go to bed, he’d just _scream_ for hours. Let me know that he should’ve left me out in the Galra kingdom, should’ve let some scavengers have me, since I was no better than them.”

He withdrew his hand from petting Keith’s ear. His cheeks began to burn; why the hell was he even sharing this, anyways? How could his problems – problems his own siblings had scolded him for making a big deal out of what they considered nothing – compare to what Keith had endured?

“I tried so hard to make him proud. His approval was all I wanted when I was little. I tried to be the best, tried to overcompensate for what I couldn’t do, but it was never enough for him. He couldn’t get past the fact that I was an Elf, and not a Fae. So when one night I finally had enough, I left with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

And Hunk by his side. And a recently bruised eye courtesy of his father losing his temper. But he supposed he’d over shared, what he always did when one of his siblings pitied him enough to ask what was wrong. His problems were pathetic compared to his friend’s, and Keith would more than likely berate him for it.

Not that Lance didn’t deserve it. He chose to believe that the wetness on his cheeks were from his one constantly weeping eye. Damn this stupid cold. He discreetly turned his head to wipe his face clean and sat up.

Keith’s eerily quiet response came a moment later. “I apologize for asking.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault I have a bad habit of dumping my problems onto anyone who asks, right?” Lance’s joke was so dumb even he couldn’t muster a weak laugh. He drew his knees closer to himself, a feeble attempt to shake the utter _shame_ burning up inside of him.

“Sorry. You wanted to hear about the Elven kingdom, not my backstory. I didn’t mean to-“

“Lance.”

Keith’s tone, unusually soft and somber for even him, caught his attention almost as much as his usage of his name. He couldn’t remember the last time he overheard Keith using the proper name for anyone, much less him.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything, much less telling me something so personal.”

“You didn’t ask to hear it.”

Keith slowly blinked. “We Galra tend to keep to ourselves, and there was never really a need for... comfort, I suppose, or reassurance in my time there. But I believe Altea works a different way than that.”

He gave him a side glance, as if asking for approval. All Lance could do was nod.

“Something traumatic like that might require help. I’m lead to believe talking about one’s problems might be an effective method to overcome them?”

Lance snorted. “You’re right, but it wasn’t _traumatic._ ”

“You shouldn’t downplay your problems like that. Clearly, it affected you. And if telling me can help, then you needn’t apologize for it.”

Lance wished he could force a laugh. As always, Keith somehow just knew the right thing to say, and if Lance was honest, that was all he could ask for. He swallowed the lump in his throat, partly regretting making such a big deal over it.

“Thanks, Keith. That’s really nice.”

“Of course. We’re friends, are we not?”

Lance started again. Keith’s large yellow eyes stared unblinkingly at him. Every time Lance had asked that exact question, Keith had answered yes. And yet, hearing him actually _say_ it, out loud, was unexpected. Unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“’Course we are. I wouldn’t be risking my ass keeping you here if we weren’t,” he lightly joked. Keith didn’t laugh or smile, but undeniably looked amused.

“Still. If you seriously wanna hear about the Elven Kingdom, I can tell you tomorrow. Stars know I’ve sat through enough history lessons to fill a book.” Lance exaggerated a roll of his eyes, mainly to change the subject, to deflect the focus from his brief moment of emotional struggle. Keith nodded, picking up on the hint and drawing no further attention to it. Lance only wished he had the words to express his gratitude for the small but kind gesture.

“I would like that,” Keith said, climbing down from leaning on the bed frame. Lance waited until he stretched and sat back down on the bundle of blankets.

Then he let out a deep breath, one he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. His secret was out in the open – one more person knew what he’d endured, and why he was an Elf in a country full of Faes that detested him. It was such a small, insignificant thing, but some of the weight on his chest lightened nonetheless.

“Alright. ‘Night,” Lance said before laying back down. Had it been anyone else, the drawn out silence might have been awkward, but... it was Keith. Never was it awkward when he was with Keith.

He supposed Keith had drifted off before getting the chance to reply. So Lance nestled further into his blankets, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to gather more warmth. Another violently cold shudder ran through him, causing every inch of him to shiver. Whether it was from his cold, or the resurfacing memories of his father’s awfully booming voice in his ears, he couldn’t decipher.

He could already tell it was going to be a sleepless night. Even if his mind was too muddled to force him to revisit every awful memory of living in the Elven kingdom, his bones continued to groan in pain. Once he complained about a lack of sleep to anyone who would listen tomorrow, Hunk was going to give him another earful.

Again he shuddered, even under the layers of blankets. The mattress creaked as someone applied weight to it. Lance’s shudder stopped as his watering vision barely made out the figure of Keith hopping onto the bottom of the bed.

Every step he took elicited a objecting squeak from the mattress. Lance found no protest, willing or unwilling, in his throat as Keith curled up beside him, his back rubbing up against his arm. He relished in the warmth radiating, savoring the heat spreading throughout his body. Keith didn’t say anything, and Lance didn’t, either. Tomorrow, he’d thank him. A tail coiled around him, huddling him closer. The dreadful shivers finally ceased for good, and sleep began to descend upon him. Keith settled down, resting his chin on his hands.

Lance scratched his ear before diving back under the blankets, that pit of uneasiness in his stomach withering away. He fell asleep shortly after, but not before he swore he heard Keith speak up.

“But if I ever meet your father,” Keith whispered, in a voice so quiet Lance wondered if he imagined hearing it, a voice quaking with absolute unchecked fury, “I’ll break every bone in his body.”

\--

It had supposed to been a simple and quick mission.

Kolivan’d been expected to return to his king’s castle by now, presenting the newly trained soldiers for his army. But even with all his years and experience, Kolivan could not have foreseen such a disaster.

He could not have predicted to lose two of the recruits assigned to him, one to death and another to rebelling against his orders and fleeing into the depths of Altea. Then there was his king’s ruthless temper, which would no doubt be unleashed on Kolivan when he returned with nothing but failure to report.

Every Galra was wise to fear his king, but Kolivan could hardly muster any anxiety at the possibility of facing his king’s wrath. At best he’d be killed quickly – at worst he might be tortured for further information, to ensure he shared none of the Galra kingdom’s secrets to any Altean, before being executed in public to serve as an example. Kolivan had seen that exact fate befall too many Galra soldiers to count.

So Kolivan meditated and contemplated his next move, what would serve all of them best. Right now he had only a handful of experienced soldiers and a dozen now frightened and apprehensive young recruits who were beginning to doubt the wisdom of their elders.

Just through the tree lines of the lengthy forest they resided in, Kolivan could see the lantern lights of a far away village. The valley below Kolivan hosted the new recruits he was responsible for. He could see them huddled around the fire, trembling due to the cold – or perhaps fear.

The bushes rustled, and footsteps not quite concealing themselves cleaved through the night air. If they had been an enemy, Kolivan would’ve already launched himself at them, blades brandished and ready to kill.

He turned his head. One of his commanders, a purplish blue Galra with long fur and feline ears, slipped out of the shrubs, her catlike yellow eyes ablaze. Her expression was fixed in a permanent grimace.

“Anything to report?”

“No soldiers, no guards, and no Alteans spotted us leaving. And no signs of that traitor,” she added with a gnash of her yellow teeth.

Kolivan returned his gaze to the city line, stark black against the indigo night sky. At the current moment, he had two options in his hand. The one his commander was leaning towards – hunting down the traitor to end him, and the other alternative – cutting their losses and returning to their kingdom to present the remainder of their trained recruits to their king.

“You cannot expect us to leave without hunting him down,” she snarled when Kolivan remained silent. She fidgeted her claws at her side.

“When I get my hands on that traitorous coward, I’ll rip _his_ throat out.”

“Ladnok, we’ve lingered in Altea for longer than we were intended to. Our king will be furious if we delay any longer,” Kolivan calmly pointed out.

“Our king will be livid if you return and confess that you allowed a _traitor_ to live freely,” Ladnok spat. She pointed at the valley below.

“Those recruits are weak, and will not satisfy our king’s hunger for soldiers. They need toughening up – you are throwing away a perfect opportunity for them to prove themselves.”

Kolivan remained scowling. Ladnok cared little for the recruits; her interest lay with pleasing her king. Her pointing out that their king wouldn’t be pleased with their current batch of recruits was correct. Their king desired only the most ruthless and battle hardened warriors, and none of the young recruits showed any potential.

Kolivan blinked. The recruits possibly did need that little push, to permanently wretch the idea of rebelling from all their soldier’s minds. Whispers had already begun to spread after one recruit was able to betray them and get away harm free – an idea that was dangerous, and one their king did not want in the minds of his army.

So Kolivan lifted his chin and his gaze to the night sky. It was unlikely that the traitorous recruit had managed to put much distance between him and his fellow Galra.

Perhaps by the time Kolivan caught up to him, the Alteans would have taken care of his job for him.

With a heavy sigh, Kolivan glared up at the stars. If luck was on his side, this wouldn’t delay them more than a day. Ladnok’s eyes gleamed eagerly, awaiting his order.

“Find the traitor, and bring him in, should he prove to still be alive.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, finally, a new chapter! <3  
> I apologize for taking so long. School and other conflicts arose that kept me away from my computer, but its finally done! Hopefully the wait wasn't too long!  
> I just wanted to say the positive feedback on the first chapter astounded me! So many nice and sweet comments, I kept re-reading them to get me inspired to write more! Hopefully this chapter will be just as much a delight to read as the first one, its the last I can do for you guys after all the love and support! <3  
> As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated. There's plenty more in store, as the ending might have tipped you off. While there may be only one more chapter left of this fic, that doesn't mean its the end of this story!  
> I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic both in the Voltron fandom and published here! This oneshot will more than likely be part of a much larger fantasy series.  
> I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated <3


End file.
